


Guilty Pleasure

by motoroilfreeway



Series: Erotomania [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Asexuality, College AU, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of pornography, Pedophilia, Rape Culture, Sex Addiction, Sex as Coping Mechanism, Suicidal Thoughts, Victim Blaming, dub-con, explicit mentions of rape, flaccid dicks, mentions of kinks, stigma against suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5823709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur prefers flaccid cocks over hard, stiff ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> After going hiatus for god-knows how many months to read as much aph fanfic as I can, I come up with this. And this is the 1st hetalia fic out of many I have that I will first ever upload for the public to see. Deer lord.
> 
> Literally spent my nap time writing this instead of napping, so pardon for errors but hopefully they're minor.
> 
> WARNINGS FOR RAPE AND ITS EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS. (rape does not happen between us/uk/us) AS WELL AS SOME STUFF ABOUT RELIGION AND THE MIND OF A RAPE VICTIM COPING THROUGH PORNOGRAPHY. LOTS AND LOTS OF MENTION OF SEX AND THE LIKE

          Arthur had known a little bit after he went to high school that his perversion went way extreme than teens his age.

For one, every boy in his school never failed to react strongly at a photo---a _photo_ , for crying out loud---of a naked woman’s torso, legs, or breasts, or any _naked_ part of a woman, for that matter. It seems like just the sight of even the skin of their armpits will make these boys wet their pants. It’s pathetic, but most pegged that to Arthur being a stuck-up (and prude) straight A student. Also he’s spent the last two years of high school as the Student Council President, so that stuck-up (and prude) straight A student stereotype never left him until he graduated, leaving everyone in the dark about this _stuck-up (and prude) straight A_ student’s darkest, deepest secret. Secrets. Whatever.

So, back to his perversion.

When did it start, anyway?

He doesn’t remember either.

The earliest childhood---yes, _childhood_ \---memory he had about something like that was when he was around six or seven, no longer sure if he’s still in pre-school or just started elementary school but he’s sure as hell can read already because if not then there’s no way he wouldn’t unravel a poster-sized calendar to check which day will his birthday come this year, then check for his brothers too, because why not. A part of him hopes it was one of those Chinese-themed calendars that have funny zodiac animal drawings in them in every month of the calendar, with tiny reading about people’s fortunes who were born under the animal’s year. He rather enjoyed reading those too.

But what he finds instead was an image of a naked man, the calendar bit of this supposed calendar were printed in a tiny, hard to read font, all compressed to the side to make way for the image.

Arthur’s excuse at that time was that he was too young to understand even the concept of prudishness, not to mention he grew up with older brothers, whom he shares baths and showers with, which he enjoyed fully because it’s fun to play in the water and since he’s the youngest (by at least 6 years) his brothers enjoy lifting him and throwing him into the water-filled tub.

Also the picture was of a naked _man_. Its not like he hasn’t seen what this one has to offer, he’s seen that on himself, on his dad, and on his brothers.

But there was just something in that naked man’s gaze, maybe, that caught little Arthur’s attention. Something about how seductively---not that he knows that’s what that look meant back then---he gazed into the camera, making it look like he’s actually looking right into the viewer’s eyes. The way he stretched to show off tight, golden flesh that reflects light due to drops of water sticking to them. The way one of his hands seem to run through his _beautiful_ taut stomach and the other clutching at his own hard, thick thighs, showing off his limp cock.

He’s beautiful. Arthur was awestruck.

So he does what most kid does to their parents’ magazines or toy brochures when they see something they like, something they _want_.

They cut it out and keep it for themselves.

Only that Dylan caught him running in the living room, looking through drawers for their mum’s sewing tools where her sharpest scissor lay. Of course, being the older brother, he got scolded and his scissor that was way too big for tiny hands were taken away and were replaced with tiny plastic ones. The very pair that he hated because they couldn’t even cut through plastic because they’re not made of metal.

He wanted to wail and kick Dylan for stealing the good scissors, but he wanted that picture so bad, so he groans and proceeds to stomp angrily back to the kitchen, where he found left the poster back in the cupboards.

He knows, these plastic scissors work on paper at least, so that was good, but he have to be _very_ careful or else he might tear the picture on accident and that would suck. So with a careful grip, he slowly cut up the poster bit by bit, until he can cut up the picture perfectly.

Satisfied, he moved to gather the cut-up pieces that made a mess on the floor, intent on bunching them all up together so he can tidy up. But then he notices more of those rolled things lying in the cupboard, in the same place where he took the calendar. Curious, he unravels another, and sees a more promising pose, way better than the one he took and he felt unsatisfied once again.

This one looks better than the other one.

Well, there are a few more in the cupboard anyway, so maybe Mum and Dad wouldn’t mind if he cut out another one right?

So he sits back again in the stool, by the kitchen counter and proceeds to repeat the careful procedure he did to get the previous picture.

He was already down to the torso when Dylan enters the kitchen to grab something to drink. He passes by behind his little brother, takes a brief look into what caught his little brother’s attention to warrant scissors and almost spit-takes with his milk when he sees just what it is.

“What the hell! Arthur’s gay?” He exclaims, which surprises the boy in question and hearing the accusation behind his words, Arthur’s gentle hold on the calendar becomes harsh and it causes the paper to rumple and tear. Soon there was nothing left but shredded pieces of paper, no longer decipherable on what it used to be. Same applies with the first picture Arthur has cut-up.

Eyebrow raised, Dylan watches his brother run through the halls, as if playing a game until he disappeared from sight. He shrugs and proceeds to clean the mess Arthur made. It’ll be bad if Mum goes home to a messy kitchen, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t want the people he loved to hate him for sinning, because maybe he’s right. He wanted this.

And so started the awkward years of Arthur forcing himself that he should also develop crushes on girls like the boys in his class, just so Dylan wouldn’t call him gay again. It doesn’t feel right to be called as such, after all.

A few years later, when Arthur is in his early teens, he’ll remember that incident and think to himself that if Dylan hasn’t said it, then he would probably never know and might end up with a wife and kids in the near future. The thought made him shudder.

Thinking back on it again, he never did realise that the feeling he got as he stared at those posters before were sexual attraction. At six-seven years old, little Arthur Kirkland is already sexually active, which explained again why he doesn’t masturbate much when he started puberty. Because he spent majority of elementary school jacking off in the school’s toilet, behind the school building, in his own room, in their toilet, bathroom, during showers and baths---everywhere and anywhere whenever he felt like it and never understood why. Its just that it felt good.

Of course when he had gotten older, he scared himself shitless when he found this white thing come out of his penis when he finally reached that high he’s always looking for (back then he didn’t know what an orgasm was yet). A ten-year old that wasn’t supposed to be sexually developed this early has of course, never had a sex education yet, so at the sight of the white thing covering his hands, it scared him. More so when he realized they’re thicker than water or urine and that they’re white.

So he stopped masturbating for a while. By that it meant five years.

Most would’ve wondered how a hormonal fifteen year-old managed not to jack-off even once in the last five years of his life, but Arthur supposes that’s because he had masturbated so much in his childhood that it could probably last a lifetime.

Also erect penises are a turn-off.

It’s not like he gets off to limp cocks too, but he finds that limp cocks are way more appealing than when they were hard, stiff, and erect. It scares him to touch them, so afraid to stroke and feel the organ slide beneath his sweaty palms.

He thought that would magically turn him straight. Aren’t most people sexually abused tend to become asexuals and/or prefer the gender opposite to their attacker after the assault?

(or _assaults_ , in his case)

Sometimes he thought maybe that’s his punishment for indulging himself so much in the sins of the flesh. The church does not approve of masturbation after all. Same goes with pre-marital sex and birth controls (and that includes abortion). A part of him is thankful he’s male, he doesn’t have a uterus and its not like getting rimmed and sucked off would get him pregnant, but every time the memory resurfaces he wanted to rip his skin off and cut off his own dick, just to make everything _stop_.

Then he remembers how much it pleasured him, how many times he let it happen, but knows it was _wrong, so wrong_ , but that didn’t stop him from opening his legs and letting him do as he pleased with him. Sometimes he lifts his shirt and sucks and plays with his nipples. Remembering how he hated the slick saliva cooling on his skin and liking the warmth at the same time that it disgusts him. He thinks if he can tell his mum, or Dylan, or Allistair, or Owen, because they’ll definitely help him, right? They’ll protect him from that man, but then he thinks of the what ifs, like what if he tells them how he opened his legs willingly, passively lied on his own bed on some nights, his pants and underwear thrown on the floor and his legs raised to rest on his shoulders to give him better access, to suck him better and lick his hole.

How he raised his hips and sometimes move to turn on his arms and knees to let him part his cheeks and get a good look at his hole, looking very eager for his hard, stiff cock. But he’s being kind to him by putting in as much as one finger, slicked wet with saliva he spat on his hole or from the rimjob he’s just done because a young one like him, he’ll definitely bleed.

What if he tells them that he did all those things with him _willingly?_ That he _liked_ them, when in truth he didn’t or did he?

So when night comes and he hears his door creak open, feel the dip in his bed and feel a hand grab his to guide it towards his hard, stiff cock to stroke it a bit, he remains quiet and lax, like he’s just sleeping and let him do whatever he wanted. Making sure not to let out any noises of pleasure, too scared to think about provoking the man into doing something way worse than this but sees the satisfied look in his eyes anyway whenever he feels his flesh quiver at every suck, every lick and caress of his tongue and mouth and hands.

He doesn’t want the people he loved to hate him for sinning, because maybe he’s right. He wanted this.

It still doesn’t mean that after the man leaves him naked and wet in his own bedroom, he doesn’t stand up on wobbly legs, blood cold underneath his skin, breath shallow, as he slowly makes way to his bathroom to wash every proof of him on him off until his skin is stinging red.

He wished he can tear his skin off.

 

Then he almost vomits one day when he’s preparing for a class, when suddenly memories of a three-four year old version of himself flashes before him, lying on their dirty basement floor, on one of their unused guest bedroom’s bed, on the cold tile floor of one of their bathrooms, anywhere desolate of people and secluded parts of their house, actually. There above him, was _her_. God, he can barely recall her name anymore but he’s pretty sure they’re somehow related (a cousin, maybe), she used to come by to their house frequently, played with him, so she’s usually in-charge of watching him when the rest of the family is out of the house (Mum and Dad are off to work; Allistair, Dylan, and Owen are all in school). He remember _loving_ that woman, who was already a teenager at that time, he remembers. Remembering taking baths with her too and wondering why she’s letting him soap the front of her torso, up to her breasts where she wanted attention the most. Instructs him to rub the nipples in particular in a circular motion and remember wondering why she closes her eyes and bites her lips like that whenever he does it.

When everyone weren’t at home they play and Arthur loves every second of it, until she looks around and carries him into a room somewhere and makes him lie or sit on the floor or the bed where she proceeds to pulls his shorts and underwear down, Arthur complying because he doesn’t know any better, wonders again why she does that and why does she keep on looking around her before she pulls at her shorts and underwear too, showing dark hair and something different from his. Watches in curiosity as she stroke his tiny cock until it stands up to attention before she presses herself into him, not penetrating, because a toddler’s cock in not big enough to reach whatever it is that makes girls squirm and scream, but just to _rub_ and _rub_ until she’s smothering him and she’s breathing deep down his neck or chest. Arthur likes it whenever she does that and he doesn’t understand but closes his eyes anyway, then feels disappointed when she suddenly pulls away and tucks him back into his underwear and shorts along with her, then they play again as it nothing happened.

They do it all the time.

Until of course, she had to leave for college only to return a few years later, with her chopped short and an arm draped over a pretty lady ‘s shoulders. His family never got in contact with her anymore after that, and until now he still doesn’t know why but supposes maybe its because her mother who is his mother’s friend had died years ago.

She still greets him from time to time, and Arthur, raised to be polite, nods and smiles at her in return before going on his merry way away from her. He doesn’t want to know if she remembers, or why she’s always been this friendly towards him. He doesn’t love her anymore.

(so maybe his sexual preference had already been changed long before he was even aware such things as attraction exists)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al is the stereotypical blue-eyed blonde hottie, taller than Arthur with the build of a football (the American kind) jock with that golden skin serving as a fucking icing to the cake, but Arthur never noticed any of this, never even gave the boy a second glance back when he asked him if the empty seat next to his is occupied or not.

So, College.

For some sort of a cruel twist of fate, the University he hated the most (but known for its quality education in the state) was the one that he got accepted into.

He had always wanted literature. He reads at least three books a day and they’re never enough to satiate his thirst and along the way started writing some bits of his own, which his literature teachers praised him for and agreed on his decision to take a degree in literature. But the thing is, this University focuses mainly on maths and sciences, his least favourite subjects, and of all universities, this one just really has to fucking accept him.

Its not like he studied hard for their so-called hard-as-balls entrance exam, in fact, the mock exams his dad got for him were left eating dust in his shelf. His dad has some kind of unfinished business with this university, you see.

Back in his days, he studied hard but failed their entrance exam so he applied to a different University instead that also offers the his degree. Which is engineering.

Started seeing a pattern here?

It was his dad who wanted to enter this university, not Arthur. Never Arthur. He accepted his dad’s offer to submit an application anyway because it wouldn’t hurt to try. He’s not going to force him to study, he just wanted his son to have a feel of how fun it is to study in there.

So submitting an application, with the full intention of fully flunking all subjects in the entrance exam, he was surprised when one morning he wakes up from screams of his mum like she’s being murdered. He runs down the stairs, stubs his toe on the corner of their table by the corner where the home telephone was at to see her clutching a paper in one hand, the other hitting his father’s chest in a speed it must’ve stopped his heart from beating by now with how hard each hit had landed on his chest, but he doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, he was smiling.

And that was never good.

So reluctantly asked, and somewhat regretted ever getting out of bed that morning to check what the commotion was all about when he gets a tight hug from his Mum, the paper--- _good lord, its thick---_ at him, telling him to read with childish glee in her voice as she jumps up and down excitedly like its Christmas and they’re about to open her present.

Which was probably what this is. What’s in the paper, is what Arthur meant.

It was from the blasted university, which was gladly informing him that he passed their entrance exam with outstanding scores in each subject what the fuck.

He reads the letter twice, then thrice before checking for the fifth time that yes, it does say Arthur Kirkland, A-R-T-H-U-R K-I-R-K-L-A-N-D. That’s his bloody name.

He smiles, and he feels the muscles underneath were shivering from cold when it was terribly warm in the house, and tells his parents that he’s so glad.

Then his father approaches and pats him on the back, remarking how worried he was that day because he swore Arthur was the first kid to leave the examination room, and he thought “We’re doomed!”. Well, guess he was wrong.

_Wrong indeed_ , was what Arthur thought.

Arthur remembers with dread that he doesn’t even remember the questions in the damn exam, not only because he tend to really space out and feel like he’s in a different realm during examinations but also because he didn’t bother reading the questions at all.

He just marked the sides of his erasers with letters A, B, C, and D and roll the eraser like a dice on every question then choose an answer based on what his eraser told him because he knows that the chances of getting one right answer out of four is very low and more so if you guessed, but apparently his eraser is alive and is fucking smart because it gave him all the right answers.

When his brothers were awake, his parents told them the news which got Arthur congratulatory pats and hugs as well as dinners and lunches fit for a King. He felt so bad eating them, knowing he didn’t even gave a rat’s ass about the university and told himself that he should’ve just read the questions and picked any of the three wrong answers. That would’ve given him better results than a fucking eraser who’s smarter than him. God-fucking-damnit.

So now, he’s back at the university, submitting the requirements and choosing an engineering course that’s similar to his father’s---definitely not the degree he wanted.

Mother fucking hell, God hates him.

 

                First day of college as an engineering undergrad and he already feels like he want to die.

All these orientations in one day is killing his feet, why the fuck is the engineering department located in the deepest darkest corner of the university, seriously? He wasn’t even kidding about the deepest, darkest thing. Have you seen the Civil Engineering Department? There’s literal tree roots covering the motherfucking entrance. It looked like it came out of horror movies and Arthur swore that any minute now something creepy will come out of those dark glass doors and eat him alive. But it didn’t.

It doesn’t mean its not creepy as hell.

Also a few more walks away from the college building you can see actual wheat field. So what, is there a scarecrow there somewhere that comes to life at night that prey on the young?

He peeks and was disappointed to see none. Its free to dream.

It was already five in the evening when they were all divided again, this time by their degree courses, before being guided to a lecture room located in a building next to that creepy civil engineering department building.

It started to rain on the way, and he doesn’t have an umbrella so one of the older volunteers offers to share his with him. The guy was very friendly and was more than happy to answer his questions, and Arthur was more than happy to smile and pretend to be an excited gullible freshman who seems like their easy to be pulled and recruited into this guy’s fraternity or whatever organisation he’s a member of.

Not that Arthur minds when the guy looks like his type. The gullible freshman act was for this especially, after all, and he knows people like him want fresh meats like him into their recruitment list because, well, _fresh meat_.

Again, he doesn’t mind.

So he continues asking questions that were obviously discussed back in the previous orientation, only that he needed more detail on them and Mr. Cutiepie just smiles that cute smile he can’t resist to want to lick, especially that little spot in the corner of his mouth that shows deep dimples. Yum.

After Mr. Cutiepie answers, he nods and licks his lips, making it seem casual and purely habitual but at the same time making sure it looked seductive enough. He knows how licking his lips affect people, more so if paired with that dumb-and-easy look.

To his disappointment though, the guy never seemed to notice any of his subtle advances by the time he entered the lecture hall, he’s gone back to his fratmates or orgmates or whatever.

_Note: men in engineering are hot but kind of dumb with subtleties._

Then from his seat by the front, he notices the older volunteers enter, along with the guy he’s trying to flirt with minutes ago, a girl attached tightly to his side.

_Note: men in engineering are hot but kind of dumb with subtleties. Or just straight_.

What a bummer.

When their guest speaker enters the lecture hall and greets them with his name printed on his slide, he pulls out all the pamphlets he received throughout the orientation as well as a notebook to take down notes.

That was when another freshman stand beside him as asks if the empty seat next to him is taken and since it’s not he says no. So this guy just slumps down on the seat.

Arthur doesn’t really remember how in the hell he and the new comer started talking but the next thing he know he’d been cracking sex jokes and the guy laughs every time, which makes him smile in return. Then names are introduced and then degrees where both laugh because _oh, yeah, this orientation is for Chemical Engineering exclusive_.

His name is Al-something Jones. Arthur is bad at names and Al is nice enough to let him call him that—Al. He remembers his name is Al because along their conversation, the orientation lecture long forgotten, they started exchanging numbers, Arthur inputing “Al Jones” under Al’s number as well as Al’s province, since majority of the students here all came somewhere faraway. Quality education, indeed.

It was a disappointment to both upon pulling out their schedules that they do not share a single class at all. They aren’t even blockmates, which is a total bummer because Arthur thinks Al is the only guy he met so far in engineering that he never tried to make a move on because really, the freshmen are all attractive.

(Al is the stereotypical blue-eyed blonde hottie, taller than Arthur with the build of a football (the American kind) jock with that golden skin serving as a fucking icing to the cake, but Arthur never noticed any of this, never even gave the boy a second glance back when he asked him if the empty seat next to his is occupied or not.)

When the orientation is over, they bid each other a friendly goodbye, even shaking hands because both enjoyed each other’s company greatly, both wanted the prospect of friendship so much but since none of their schedules match, they’re probably not going to meet again.

Which is something that God seemed to have taken as some sort of challenge because five months later, a week after finals week, they meet again, both eyes as wide as the grin on their faces when Arthur looks up from where he sat on the floor, waiting for the exam room to open when a foot kicks his and sees that the perpetrator was the boy he wanted to be friends with, and vice-versa.

Turns out that engineering is hard as fuck. Arthur stopped his nightly (gay) porn movies and (gay) erotica literature reading a week following the end of syllabus week because unlike high school, his course load really demanded serious attention or else he’ll flunk all his subjects and his dad will probably disown him soon after.

So here he is, about to take an exam to save one of his failing subjects, hoping to God (if he’s even listening to a sinner like him) that _please_ fucking spare him because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go if his dad were to kick him out.

It was a few more minutes before the exam room opens, so Al sits down right next to him on the floor, leaning on the wall next to the exam room’s door and they talk like old friends when in truth they only met once. This one being the second one in five months after the first one during the beginning of their college days.

The beginning and the last, how funny was that.

So apparently, Al hated chemistry and so he flunked both his lab and lecture, in which Arthur exclaims in laughter that he’s the same! They laugh and they talk about their classmates back in high school who posted their grades on facebook where they laughed loudly at because there’s no way they could join the bandwagon, when they’re flunking all their subjects this bad.

So the few minutes they’ve got to spare that both were supposed to spend on last minute reviewing evaporated on air like dry ice, but neither of them regretted it.

 

When the results came in and said that Arthur flunked 14 of his units out of 19, the remaining six passed by the skin of his teeth, he got one hell of a scolding from his adviser and was advised to shift out of engineering and move to simple sciences instead.

Thinking about how his father will react made him stand his ground, stared his adviser in the eyes and fought the urge to vomit, he said, tears stinging the back of his eyes, he _can’t_.

Second semester of fuck-ups again, he fails basic algebra and trigonometry for the second time and he gets another scolding from his father and another from his adviser then somehow he fucked up with his requirements so the College Dean had to personally talk to him, it was too much for Arthur’s crumbling mind to take, with all the pressure and anxiety hitting him hard in the gut he thought he’ll break down in the Dean’s office there and then, but luckily, his self-control is strong and he didn’t.

He actually thinks that the dirty look the college secretary gave him when he left her office has something to do with his face and voice. It’s not his fault he doesn’t look like he gives a shit at all, this is just is default expression, no matter what he felt. Ever since he was twelve-thirteen, he thinks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cannibalism, lobotomy, Stockholm/Lima syndrome, incest, rape, somnophilia, necrophilia, oviposition, male pregnancy, eggs, tentacles, bestiality, skull-fucking, vomiting, watersports, humiliation, bondage, BDSM, male lactation, and many more. He has them all. Except scat. Even people like him have boundaries.

First semester of his second year-though his papers says he's still a freshman (irregular, because he's many units short)-he sitting inside the laboratory, waiting for their instructor to arrive and some of his lab mates, because as usual, being the compulsive freak that he is, he can't bear tardiness and came an hour early before his class (again).

He was too busy listening to his new album in his player to notice a newcomer, but it didn't take too long when someone kicks one of his crossed leg and sees Al, smiling big and looking excited as he walks and sits on a table across him. Arthur smiles in return, as excited as the other. Who knew they're taking the same class together?

They hoped they could be grouped together but Arthur forgot God hates him so even though their last names follow each other (Jones, Kirkland), the numbers of members per group had to move Arthur to the group after Al's, but neither minded in the end. Somehow they both realised their friendship doesn't need much contact to keep it steady, considering they only talked twice and saw each other thrice and there was never tension or awkwardness present between them.

Arthur, after a year of pent up frustration of missing chemistry became very active and enthusiastic in class, which prompted Al to visit their aisle after every experiment, carrying his own lab sheet to ask Arthur for answers for certain questions which Arthur gave without blinking an eye. Arthur's group mates were surprised at first, asking the both of them how they met and had known each other, did they go to the same high school together? Blockmates?

Questions that were both answered with a shrug and a laugh.

Soon, Arthur's group no longer questioned why Al prefers to steal any of Arthur's seatmate's seats to sit close to him, his blank lab sheet and pen at the ready to copy whatever it was written on Arthur's paper.

A few weeks later, everyone in the lab were all stressed, preparing for a lecture exam in chemistry, Al included, of course.

He drops by Arthur's side again, shoving a seatmate out of his seat. He gets a dirty look for that but pointedly ignores it in favour of asking his friend.

"Why don't you seem worked up over the exam? And I've never seen you during lecture, you're in a different class?"

At which Arthur answers, with a shit-eating grin on his face, "I've passed my lecture _last year."_

"What! How could you leave me?" He whines, his head resting on Arthur's shoulder, which Arthur ignored and continued with filling up his lab report.

"Because I need to advance."

 

This semester sure was kind for them, despite only sharing one class together, since they're both taking another subject at the same time, though through different professors, they still bond over it.

It's weird seeing Al fuss over physics of all things, he knows that the guy can solve shit without even constructing a working equation or writing down the solution. But still.

So Arthur finds himself more than once meeting with Al outside of class hours, to teach him about physics, Al says but they always end up goofing around, their notes long forgotten on the table.

Then after a few meetings in the library turned into Al waiting for him at ten in the damn evening outside the theatre, because Arthur had to watch a play for a subject requirement and Al insisted a few hours ago to meet with him for more physics and chemistry stuff. Arthur tried to reschedule, but the other was insistent and promised that he doesn't mind one bit to wait for him.

But the play lasted an hour longer than scheduled, so he's surprised to see Al patiently leaning on the building across the theatre, waving at him.

He apologizes of course, but his apologies fell on deaf ears, more interested in his company.

They both walk in silence in the empty side-walk. Both finding it relaxing and strange at the same time, being used to seeing it filled with hurrying students during the day. It was ten in the evening, nearing ten-thirty and the night air was so cold, Arthur regrets not bringing a glove with him and starts rubbing his fingers.

"Cold?"

Arthur shrugs, "Nah, it'll pass," still rubbing at his hands when a warm one grabs his and their fingers entwine like perfect puzzle pieces.

The warmth surprises Arthur, makes him uncomfortable. More so when his hands start sweating. He wanted to pull away but at the same time doesn't want to. Curious at the fuzzy feeling in his chest with the way Al's hand wrap around his and they're walking.

Al lives in the university dormitory and the gates closes at 10, so Arthur offers the other to stay in his flat. It was a Friday, so his roommate was at his parents'. Al can sleep on his roommate's bed.

Al accepts the offer to hang out at his flat but promises he'll leave by 12 midnight because campus vehicles pick up students during midnight to send them to their respective dormitories. Arthur shrugs and shows him the way.

They eat some of Arthur's leftovers from the other day, Al eating like they were the last slices of pizza on earth and drinking water like a man on a dessert while Arthur barely finishes a quarter of his, too sick with the taste and the dryness of the dough on his mouth.

They talked more between bites in whispers as if trading secrets because the walls are thin and its so quiet.

Then somehow the topic moves to porn and Arthur ends up showing Al his extensive collection, Al laughing at the _variety_ he has. Everything were organised in subfolders based on kinks and Al is enjoying every moment of scrolling through them.

Then he pulls out a flash drive and asks Arthur to give him a copy of his personal favourites, at which Arthur denies that he has any because watching the same video for the second time isn't as nice as watching it for the first time, since you already know what's going to happen.

"You literally own an external drive exclusively for your porn _collection_ and you're telling me you didn't plan on downloading all this kinky shit?"

"It's a pain in the arse waiting for the video to buffer."

"Huh, that's a legit reason. I'll accept that for now. You're still a kinky sex addict to me, though."

Despite claiming having no personal favourites, Arthur copied some that he liked anyway. Al asking in the middle of the process if there's any of those that made him jack off so hard at which Arthur replied with a "No, never jacked off to any of these, but they're worth the watch."

The look Al gave him was something he expected and it made him smile that annoying shit-eating grin again that Al hated very much.

"But _how_?"

Instead of the answer to _how,_ Arthur remembers the answer to the reason _why_. And it makes the blood running through his veins go cold, feel his flesh stiffen ( _like a hard, stiff cock_ ) but swallows it away and shrugs nonchalantly. Faking innocence.

It appears as if Al can see through him when he squints his eyes at him and says, voice full of doubt and confidence, for two different things, of course. "Dude, you look like a walking kinky sex addict, there can't be nothing you're not into that makes you hot and bothered."

Arthur bites his tongue, holding down the urge to show him his other drive filled with his favourite erotica. Kinks ranging from tolerable to the possibility of grossing out Al and getting called a sicko for _getting off of_ that, but he can't help it.

Cannibalism, lobotomy, Stockholm/Lima syndrome, incest, rape, somnophilia, necrophilia, oviposition, male pregnancy, eggs, tentacles, bestiality, skull-fucking, vomiting, watersports, humiliation, bondage, BDSM, male lactation, and many more. He has them all. Except scat. Even people like him have boundaries.

Instead he asks, voice trembling as he feels his face heat-up, too embarrassed to be read like that with just through the way he carries himself.

"What! H-how did you even come up to that conclusion?"

Al gives him a blank look.

"The very first time I saw you, you're giving off the vibes. It shows in your outfit and bag and that _notebook_."

"What's wrong with my _notebook?"_ Arthur asks, almost exclaiming. He's supposed to ask how in the hell had Al got all those things down to a tee when he made sure to dress as lame as possible on that day: plain loose jeans, his ugly as fuck converse and a simple black shirt. Even his bag was ordinary, just a brown lame shoulder bag, the one he used back in high school. He even took off his piercings.

"Just that it literally screams: I'm into kinky stuff." Was the confident reply with a huff, Arthur thinks Alfred is pulling his leg, since he remembers that it was just a plain with notebook. No design or anything suspicious in it at all. There's no way anyone can pick-up that he's into crazy kinky shit by looking at that.

Arthur stares at him for a long time, checking if the other was telling the truth, but Arthur was never a good judge of character and soon gives up. He asks instead, "No, seriously, how did you get all those just from looking at me _once_."

Al smiles at this knowingly, like he knows all the secrets of the universe (and Arthur almost believes that he does) and says, "Let's just say I'm _very_ good at reading people."

Arthur was about to say something else when he looks at the wall clock and gasps when it says its already a quarter past eleven.

He tells Al to better leave now, since the guard station was at least ten minutes away from his flat. Al seemed like he wanted to protest, extend their time together but chooses to remain silent, unplugs his flash drive from Arthur's laptop, making Arthur flinch because _holy shit, he unplugged without safely removing_.

Al asks if maybe Arthur can walk him out of the building and assures his friend he can find his way to the guard station just fine. So Arthur complies, because its very late and he doesn't want Al to not make it home back to his dormitory because of him.

Arthur was confused when Al didn't make any move about leaving the building by the time they got to the exit, instead just lingering by the door, eyes focused on him with that smile back on his face and Arthur can't help but smile back but his felt more forced because he feels so tired.

Then Al moves towards him, a hand grabbing his shoulder to hold him close, lips puckered. Arthur panics for a moment, asking what in the hell was he up to now and at this, Al's lips start pouting.

"Ever heard of _beso-beso_?" He says, lips still stuck in a cross between a pout and pucker, still waiting for his kiss, it seems.

"U-uh…" was his intelligent reply.

Al sighs in exasperation and grabs him again in the shoulders, then pressed the side of his cheek to his and made a kissing noise, then his other cheek was given the same treatment and after that he pulls away, leaving Arthur dumbstruck. Too confused to respond.

"Well then, later!"

And he's gone.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beso-beso: beso is a spanish word meaniing "kiss". Usually done by close female friends, well from what I've seen in watching too much spanish drama as a child, anyway. Alfred's just being that cheesy friend and arthur's too scared of human contact but trusts alfred so he lets him get away with them even though its obvious it makes him very uncomfortable
> 
> edit as of 03/11/16: a doodle (by me) of what arthur was wearing at the freshman orientation and some others


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What, you’re a pirates’ rights activist now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2

          A few more weeks and the next thing they know they’re all sitting in a corner, waiting to be called up by their instructor to perform the practical exam.

Arthur finds himself taking to a labmate, trying to calm her nervous nerves by confirming that _yes, its easy, yes, they’re just all about laboratory techniques. Just think of it as another exercise and you’ll do fine._

Then she gets called up so Arthur returns to minding his own business, fiddling with his phone, discreetly reading one of his newly downloaded erotica. It didn’t take him long until he’s internally giddy, loving how well the bestiality fit into the plot (because unlike some people, he still craves plot to his porn (the literature ones, anyway)).

When he feels a body press close to his again, he swiftly shuts off his screen and sees that his labmate has just returned from her practical. By the look of horror on her face, she didn’t do so well and it made him want to throttle her because she wasn’t listening to his advise at all, but remembers just in time that no, he can’t throttle people because he doesn’t do that anymore. Also it’s a lot of work and eats up too much time. And that would mean wasting precious reading time while he wait for his turn.

So instead he gives her a look of sympathy, even though he doesn’t feel any for her at all. That’s her fault now for failing anyway.

Then Al squeezes between him and the wall, at the same time ignoring his glare with a smile.

Somehow, Al’s group had this little game of making up unusual nicknames and that gave Al an idea, which required him to excuse himself from said group to go disturb Arthur in his happy little corner.

“So, got any thoughts about what you want me to call you?” He tells him, an arm wrapping around his shoulder. Al is getting touchier than usual. He’s definitely up to something and Arthur’s got a feeling that he’s not going to like it at all.

Ignoring Arthur, he continues, “What about…Ar?”

“No.”

“Oh come on! You call me Al!”

_Damn it._

“…well, where the hell did that ‘Al’ came from anyway?”

“I’m Al _fred_ , bro.”

Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. Alfred. He repeats his name a couple of times more in his head, because he knows he’ll definitely forget that again in a few minutes.

“Then, I’ll call you Alfred from now on.” Arthur decides. That way he won’t forget. Al feels weird to say anyway.

“What! Why?” It seems that Alfred does not share his opinion and appeared to be incredulous to his friend’s new naming of him.

“But--! But I like Al.”

“Well, I like _Alfred_.” He retorts.

It made Alfred groan like a child, thumping his head gently on Arthur’s side, his arm around him getting tighter. It still feels strange to be so near people. They’re warm and soft and he can’t help but stiffen in his seat, straining his back and making his arse sore from sitting on the concrete.

“Then, I’ll call you Ar.”

“Stop it!”

Ar lasted for a few minutes, because afterwards, Alfred won’t stop biting at his own tongue and settled for Art.

“I sound like a pirate whenever I call you and my tongue felt weird after a few tryouts.”

He gets a hit upside the head for that. When Alfred complains and asks what he had done to “warrant a violent reaction”, Arthur replied, tone serious, “Stop stereotyping pirates, they don’t speak like that.”

“What, you’re a pirates’ rights activist now?”

“Among other things.”

They both pass the practical with perfect scores.

 

                God is not as nice to them the following semester; Alfred flunking his physics of all things and Arthur hits him for that because he really expected him to do better than that.

Arthur gives him another hit when he finds out Alfred decided not to take a higher chemistry course like he did this term so that means the chances of sharing classes together again is out of the picture.

When Alfred finds out Arthur in turn did not take a higher mathematics like he did this term, he received a punch to the arm and getting called a hypocrite. In Arthur’s defence, his schedule has conflicts.

So they didn’t meet again, but that doesn’t mean they lost contact altogether. They have each other‘s numbers, and so resorted to text messaging each other whenever about random things.

Arthur expected not to see Alfred for at least the duration of the semester, so he was surprised to see him waiting right outside his apartment building, waving him over.

“Alfred?”

“Bro! Waited around for a bit since my next class is in…” A glance in his watch, “..fifteen minutes. I waited here for an hour, woah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I got someone to introduce you to! You’ll definitely like him!”

And just like that he gets pulled away from his flat into the sidewalk, and they stand there for a few more minutes, Arthur worrying about Alfred’s next class, which the other shrugged off.

“This one’s way more important, anyway. Oh look, there he is. Ludwig, hey!”

Arthur turns to where Alfred was waving at, and sees a fellow student walking, looking at Alfred in recognition and waving back.

He stops in front of them and greets Alfred and vice versa. When Ludwig’s cold gaze turned to Arthur, Alfred did not hesitate to introduce them, pulling Arthur’s hands to shake Ludwig’s expecting ones.

“Ludwig, Arthur. Arthur, Ludwig.”

They both nod, "Beilschmidt.”

“Kirkland.”

Then Alfred continues, “He’s Mechanical Engineering, met him through a blockmate and Arthur’s Chemical Engineering, by the way.”

Ludwig and Arthur both find themselves nodding silently at Alfred, both unsure on how to react or know where this is going.

“You both like kinky gay porn! Isn’t that great? Now, talk!” He suddenly exclaimed, hands held open towards them, giving the two Alfred’s blessing.

Alfred’s declaration made both men flinch and take a tentative step back from each other, exchanging terrified looks. Cold sweat started beading on their foreheads.

It’s obvious they’re both unwilling to participate in the activity their mutual acquaintance wanted them to engage in. They gave each other a look that says “Alfred’s crazy” as well as “I want to get out of here” “me too”

So they both turned to Alfred, feigning surprise.

“Alfred! Aren’t you running late for your next class?” Arthur says in a voice too calm and level to tell that he’s having a meltdown in his brain.

“I’m sorry but need to hurry to mine, too.” Ludwig says as looks at his watch, the tremble in his tone not clear if he’s truly sorry for leaving too early or reflecting the same fear Arthur has at the moment.

Alfred seemed oblivious to his friends’ fright, and only hisses and gazes at his watch again, cussing and making sure to give Arthur and Ludwig painful pats to the back, telling them “Goodluck!” as he sprints away.

Arthur and Ludwig’s depart didn’t have so much as a proper farewell, both too horrified and stunned to do anything else but walk away towards opposite directions and never look back.

 

        When Arthur and Alfred find time to meet again, the first thing Alfred asks was “How’re things going on with you and Ludwig, eh? Already doing the deed?” He asks slyly, poking Arthur’s side with his elbow and grinning like a teenage girl talking about boys.

It ignites the horrible memory back to life and starts replaying over and over again in Arthur’s head vividly in full detail and remembers the humiliation he (and Ludwig, from how the other mirrored his reaction) felt. He punches Alfred in the chest, hissing.

“No! Do you think there’s a chance we’ll even want to see each other again after that crazy stunt you pulled? How could you do that, just, just telling the whole world aloud about our, our… _private interests_? You think it’s funny to watch us squirm and wish for death there and then!”

The smile in Alfred’s face immediately melted into a frown. It was probably a good thing that they decided to meet up at the park or else people would’ve stopped and watch Arthur, red-faced and angry, shouting at Alfred at the top of his lungs (not that it didn’t attract even the least of attention, but it being a park, the area is open and wide, chances of getting overhead is low and only for those near enough to hear).

“I…didn’t know that was how you felt,” He says in a small voice.

It made Arthur pause for a second, then steeling his resolve, he turns his back to Alfred, hand crossing over his chest self-consciously and grumbles low in his throat, “And now you do.”

“I’m sorry, man. I just thought it’ll be nice if you met someone you have something in common with.”

When Arthur refused to talk and settled to shrug, Alfred inhales and adds, “I noticed that I’m your only friend, so I wanted you to talk to more people and branch out. I mean, remember those people I bring along to our study sessions back then? But you always end up talking to just me so I thought maybe they don’t interest you because they’re not as… _open minded_ as I am and then I met Ludwig and found out…I thought he could be your type or something. I’m just really trying to help. I’m sorry.”

To Alfred’s dismay, Arthur remained silent.

“Hey, Art?”

Arthur sighs and Alfred can see Arthur’s shoulders visibly sag and relax. “…Alfred.”

Alfred perks up. “Yeah?”

Then Arthur starts walking away, towards the direction of the food district, Alfred following suit, but still reluctant to match his pace. “…don’t do it again.”

“Yeah! Got it!”

 

                It was a few days before finals week when Arthur receives a mail from his aunt, inside the envelope were four amusement park tickets and a thick wad of cash along with a small paper with instructions of taking his cousin to the amusement park a few days after the end of his semester. It also says in the letter that the two extra tickets were for his friends. He can take two with him.

He doesn’t understand why his aunt wanted him to take his cousin to an amusement park and why was the bribe so big, until he asked his Mum and realised that it was his Aunt and Uncle’s wedding anniversary and they wanted the day for each other without the ten-year old.

So he needs just two of his friends to take along with him.

The problem was, Arthur thinks Alfred is the only friend he’s got.

Thinking about it, maybe its fine not to use the last ticket, it’s not like he paid for it.

When he told Alfred about the letter, his answer was, “Hell yeah! Do you even need to ask?”

Then he took the last ticket, telling Arthur that he’ll take care of their fourth person. Arthur can thank him later, and then he winks.

Arthur had almost forgot about the tickets when he found out he flunked his physics, cursing at his absent-minded professor because it’s easier to cope when you’ve got someone to blame. When his Dad saw his grade sheet, he was met with silence. No shouting, no lectures. Just silence.

It made him want the shouting and lectures so badly.

 

           The day before the big day, Arthur picked up Alfred at the rendezvous point and he took him to an eat-all-you-can buffet. He’s got the money anyway, and Alfred’s been whining to treat him to food again sometime so Arthur thought that maybe Alfred will like this restaurant.

They offer different kinds of cuisines, from Asian to European so there are a lot of choices.

To say that Alfred liked it was an understatement.

He won’t stop grilling raw meat on the built-in grill on their table and he kept on coming back with overflowing plates. Alfred told Arthur as he stuff his face silly that he wanted to get to taste every single dish before they leave. Arthur didn’t answer, just nodded as he silently nibbled on his small portion of food and watched Alfred eat and grill with the enthusiasm of a child with his new toy in fascination

He also enjoyed the deserts, and got disappointed when Arthur said he doesn’t fancy sweets when Alfred offered to get him some from the aisle.

“You’re wasting the money you paid for these if you’re not gonna stuff your face silly with them. At least eat the expensive ones, man.” Alfred tells him after getting a look at his plate, almost bare with food.

“I don’t have the appetite,” Arthur tells him with a shrug. He calmly nibbles on a raw strip of salmon dipped in soy sauce as he watches Alfred’s face turn into a scowl.

“Then why bring me here? Shit’s expensive as fuck.”

The vulgarity scares Arthur for a moment, looks around to check if anyone in the nearby booths had heard, since families also fancy dining here and when he finds none, he goes back to his friend, seeming upset. It appears that his lack of appetite started affecting his friend’s as well. The food on his plate remained untouched and full, the meat sizzling on the grill between them.

Arthur looks down on his plate, unconsciously re-aligning his strips of raw salmon with chopsticks and mumbles, “This is my favourite place to eat, I just want you to have a taste. Enjoy them, like how I did the first time.”

He’s not lying about that, and its not like he minds the bill much, since his father seems to enjoy spoiling his youngest son, giving him a monthly allowance too big. His brothers doesn’t seem to mind either, seeming more than happy to join in on the trend, giving Arthur trinkets, expensive sweets and books whenever they drop by, filling Arthur’s room back in the university with them and getting weird looks from his flatmates when he offers them some of his expensive sweets.

He doesn’t fancy sweet things anyway.

Alfred was still frowning, his eyes looking down at the food he has on his plate, staring at them with guilt. At Arthur’s silence, he grabs his spoon and fork and gets back to stuffing his face again, but with less enthusiasm unlike before. The sight in turn made Arthur’s palate worse, the salmon no longer desirable. He finishes the last strip on his plate, then squeezes himself against the plush corner of the booth where he proceeded to read something nice in his phone, hoping a good dosage of literature will make him happy again.

It didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if ya'll think the thing with alfred setting up his friend with another guy who shares arthur's interests is too "unrealistic to happen in real life", you're talking to the person who got subjected to arthur's misery. (although the topic in question was yaoi, its still embarrassing as fuck)
> 
> 2nd part contains their adventures in the amusement park, along with alfred's mystery 4th person
> 
> another thing: for those who doesn't know about the restaurant alfred and arthur went to, you can google "yakimix" or "yakiniku", hopefully they'll show up. I can't check for myself bc my internet is so slow pages barely load right //sobs
> 
> edit as of 03/11/16: they took a selfie at the restaurant haha  
> drawn my me (which I'll hopefully upload to my tumblr if my internet speeds up..or if I manage to find a decent teashop to smooch wifi from


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> According to Murphy's law, if anything can go wrong, it will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real chapter this time, and to answer some worried questions, no I'm not gonna delete or discontinue this fic just because of a negative response. TBH ya'll gonna need to do something more to make me budge bc I'm stubborn as heck.  
> The only reason it took me this long to upload another chapter, despite the muse running in my head is that the week that followed after I posted ch 5 was so busy from me doing my acads, to family occassions I had to run all over and get max of 2 hrs of sleep. Wash, rinse, and repeat. Then my body had to give up when things started settling down so now I have the flu. But I had ro suck it up and attend classes anyway //sniff
> 
> So, this is Part 2 of 2 of the amusement park adventure
> 
> also, beware of mistakes. It's hard to proofread when you're ill. Which reminds me, I really need a beta.

       When they leave the restaurant, the stores nearby are all nearly closing.

They find a booth selling Christmas-themed donuts and they smell disgusting from all the sugar and whatever else that is sweet on them but it got Arthur’s attention anyway because they look nice.

The lady on the counter notices him and no sooner than later, Alfred watches him in amusement as Arthur’s smile turns forced because his mind is drowning from all the promo-shit this lady can spout per second. Inwardly he wonders if people really buy donuts because they’re 30% off on all Christmas-related donuts and can get them a few bills cheaper if you buy a dozen.

Arthur doesn’t care about the promos or discounts, letting the deals fly over his head and agrees to anything she said, as long as he can get his Christmas-themed donuts.

He gets confused for a moment why she made him choose twelve donuts until he realizes he just agreed to buy a dozen. _Crap_.

When his box was finally packed and he pays, he wonders if Alfred can eat all eleven. Or Twelve. Because they really smell gross.

 

      When Arthur finally takes Alfred to his home, it was a few minutes after eleven.

His mum was happy to see her son come into the door followed by a charming boy he calls his friend, because throughout the duration of Arthur studying in the university, he never mentioned a friend and now he doesn’t only have one, but he’s bringing him over to stay at their house! She was so excited, all smiles and greetings, making Alfred smile and politely answer everything and anything she asks about him and how he and Arthur are as friends. It embarrasses Arthur when she insists that Alfred call her “Mum” as well.

When she notices the box of donuts in Arthur’s hand, she happily takes it inside the kitchen and told them that they’re free to set-up the entertainment system for videogames, so they can bond some more. It unsettles something inside Arthur, knowing that his mum always hated it when his brothers set-up their game in the entertainment system. She being willing and supportive of the idea at the moment made Arthur think, somewhat offended, that his mum may have thought that he doesn’t have an ounce of chance of making friends, being the loner that he is and meeting Alfred whom Arthur introduced as his (one and only) friend from the university is worth the celebration.

When Alfred’s settled on one of the couches, Arthur about to join him after setting up the game, controllers in hand, he sees her come over with the sweets and start preparing them on the small table by the couch.

_Yep, she is happy_.

 

Turns out Alfred is one hell of a gamer.

The way Alfred easily dealt with the first level without even breaking a sweat put Arthur on edge. It made him feel smaller and feel really lame, because the difficulty was set to normal and Arthur can barely last a few seconds without getting ambushed and shot in the ass.

It amazes him how someone like Alfred had a very good hand-eye coordination like that. He didn’t even know that the avatars can move like that until he saw Alfred did it. Arthur supposes Alfred plays a lot.

He has to. There’s no way this guy is a beginner.

Although Arthur isn’t either.

So it made him self-conscious, made him want to quit the game and sit back and watch Alfred beat the levels in one try but his pride made him stand his ground and continue playing with a hard expression on his face, the true face of pure concentration, because he cannot let Alfred goad and laugh at him like that just because he sucks so much at playing games and Alfred is a gamer god.

In the end, Alfred had to set the difficulty to easy.

  
       It wasn’t like Arthur was pissed at him for beating him in his own game (well, Arthur’s brothers own that gaming platform, but who cares about that), but he was feeling bitter nonetheless. His pride was hurt.

He doesn’t enjoy losing to people and even though being good in playing videogames isn’t something your parents can brag at family gatherings, a challenge is a challenge and the way Alfred laughs and smiles at him smugly, knowing that Arthur is no good at this, will never get better at video games because he’s got an attention span shorter than the drafting pencil Alfred refused to throw away that he uses in his engineering graphics class makes Arthur’s blood boil.

He just really hated it when there are people better than him. Period.

The fact that it kept happening ever since he went to college to take on a degree his heart does not even want meant that he’s really bad at the classes especially the maths and sciences and knowing that there are people in has class who can recite every element’s atomic number and electronic configuration off their head faster than he does and can integrate and break down derivatives without needing a sheet of paper chips at his self-esteem.

He doesn’t enjoy feeling inferior to anyone else.

Be it his brothers, or his mother, or his friend, or his father.

Most especially his father.

He just can’t.

Lying in his bed, preparing himself to sleep while buried deep in these thoughts, he shrieks when he feels warm arms wrap around him, uncomfortable and not used to the sensation. He had forgotten that he had agreed to throw his mattress on the floor and push it together with Alfred’s so it’ll feel more like a real sleepover. Arthur thought it was a good idea at that time, internally flattered at the thought of the other’s action indicating genuine want to pursue friendship with him. He never had people over before at his house and he never had friends like Alfred before. They mostly stuck to him because he’s somewhat loaded and he does their homework for them. Alfred doesn’t do that, doesn’t ask him for those. Just companionship.

At his shriek, all Alfred did was squeeze harder and press his head against his back. Arthur stills at this and feels every hair on his skin stand on end, Alfred’s head on his back an anomaly. Arthur is starting to regret sleeping next to him, friend or not.

“I’m a clingy sleeper, sorry man.”

“Let. Go.” He whimpers.

“It’s okay, it’s just a hug. Just for tonight, come on.” Alfred chuckles, as if Arthur whimpering is something funny to laugh at. Its fine, Arthur doesn’t mind. That’s better, actually because it means he doesn’t know. He hasn’t caught on to anything yet. Good.

God, he doesn’t like this hug at all.

This is Alfred, he tells himself. Alfred is his best friend. Alfred is his friend. He trusts Alfred.

Alfred won’t do anything to him. Just hug him. He can force himself to bear the hug, even just for the night because tomorrow they’ll be leaving for the amusement park with Peter and Alfred’s mysterious fourth person and when evening comes Alfred will leave for home and the next time they will meet will be somewhere during or after the first week of the new semester, or maybe the semester after that. He can never be too sure, but what matters is that by then this would be a past long forgotten and none of them will know any better. Except Arthur, because he will remember.

He remembers everything and he wishes his memory wasn’t that photographic anymore.

He hopes Alfred won’t smell anything weird on him or the sheets.

(Truth be told, it hasn’t happened in _months_ and that the sheets were recently replaced that night.)

Because Arthur swears he can _smell it_.

 

        When the big day came, it was his Father who went into his room to wake them up.

Alfred was up as soon as the door creaks open, always the light sleeper that he is. Whereas Arthur had to be scolded multiple times because he refused to get up after every call and instead curled in deeper into his pillows and blanket, wishing the sun away and everything else.

He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, with the smell and the breathing and the warm arms wrapped around his middle he couldn’t bring himself to sleep or move. He can’t help it.

He was just so scared.

When sleep finally crept up on him, he can already feel the warm rays of sunshine creeping on the folds of his dark curtains and Alfred’s arms no longer wrapped around him.

But then of course, it was already morning and it’s time for them to wake up and prepare for their day.

Arthur tries to blink off the sleep in his eyes only to wince when it stung just to open his eyes. _They’re so tried, fuck_. His father’s words fell on deaf ears as he focused on the pain, on the little noise that rings in his ears and the voice that echoes something like “ _is that what you want Alfred to see how you wake up in the morning? Don’t you have any shame?”_

But Alfred seemed unaffected with it all, with the way he smiles sheepishly at him, at his father, as if it was him who was on the receiving end of his father’s early morning rant, not his scatter-brained friend.

That was the part of Alfred that Arthur has yet to understand.

 

        As it turns out, Arthur won’t need to use his car, when his Aunt called and said that Peter will be coming by to pick them up, since they hired a driver who will willingly drive them to and fro the park. Arthur doesn’t mind, it just means he can nap on the way.

He tells Alfred this, and wonders loudly where will they pick-up Alfred’s fourth person. When Alfred looks away and fidgets, laughing and voice trembling he tells Arthur that he didn’t get to find a fourth person to use the last ticket on and he’s very sorry. He takes out the last ticket from his wallet and hands it back to Arthur, apologizing again. Arthur refused to accept the ticket, he doesn’t care anyway.

So when Peter’s car came over, horn loud enough for the boys to hear from Arthur’s house, they went out.

Arthur chose to sit at the back, away from the driver that he doesn’t know. He hated getting to know strangers that his family knows and the best way to keep away from them is by sitting at the back.

Alfred has other plans though.

With Arthur’s ten-year old cousin sitting between them, Alfred tries to peer from his seat to the driver’s to initiate small talk, and he was loud while doing it.

Much to Arthur’s comfort, the driver is as noisy as Alfred once the man realised Alfred isn’t as stuck-up as Peter’s parents. Peter doesn’t seem to care at how the driver talked about his parents behind their backs, though, so Arthur said nothing and tried to pretend that the silence in the car still exists.

The driver’s name is Gilbert whose voice is loud and scratchy that it makes Arthur’s ears hurt and the way he talks really made him want to not speak to him at all. He doesn’t like small talks.

When the car finally parks and Arthur feels the engine shut off, he inwardly sighs in relief. Only to get his hopes crushed when Alfred suddenly suggests that Gilbert should “totally have fun with us at the park, we still have another ticket!”

Great, now Arthur won’t be able to have fun because someone his family knows is going to be there.

Except for Peter, of course, since he’s family. There’s a difference.

When they enter the park, Alfred pulls at his hand, to redirect his focus to the map Alfred has. He points at the big rides on every corner of the park, planning the routes and how long they’ll probably had to wait in line based on the ride’s popularity and all that shit until Peter pulls at his shirt and says he wants to try a boring kiddie ride. Arthur felt his energy deflate.

He wanted to hop on the adrenaline-inducing rides. Maybe they’ll kill him this time.

He was about to lean down and talk the kid out of his decision when Gilbert the chauffeur lifts the boy, Peter squealing in glee as he was settled to sit on the man’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep watch of him. You two go have fun.” He gives the two of them a knowing look and winks and then he’s off to go somewhere Peter happily pointed at, a jump in Gilbert’s steps.

Arthur frowns.

Gilbert may have taken the pain in the ass off his hands, but the thought of leaving his ten-year old cousin at the hands of some adult man Arthur himself does not know does not settle well in his gut.

He was pulled out of his thoughts again when Alfred pulls at his hand, still wrapped in Alfred’s own. Alfred didn’t seem to notice his frown as Arthur was dragged away somewhere fun.

Arthur doesn’t think he’ll have fun knowing his cousin may just be in danger.

 

     “Gimme! Gimme!”

“Sorry kid, Roderich will get pissed if I didn’t bring Elizabeta any souvenirs.”

“Fuck Roddy! I want a lion too! Get me a lion!”

Arthur wants to laugh at how Alfred visibly winced at hearing Arthur’s little cousin cuss. Not a while ago the boy refused to talk and preferred to smile shyly and nod or shake his head at Alfred’s questions back in the car, after all. The sudden change in personality was a shock and Alfred needs more time to adjust. Or more exposure to the kid, based on Arthur’s experience.

Three boring rides later, the pair bumps into Gilbert and Peter. Gilbert was trying out one of the park’s games and they were just in time to see the older man get handed the biggest stuffed animal from the booth, Peter whining and pulling at his shirt. Peter wanted the stuffed animal, but they’re not for sale unless you win their games, so he insists on having Gilbert’s prize instead, but Gilbert has other plans, it seems.

“Whoa, nice lion!” Alfred calls out.

“It’s mine!” Peter insists, still trying to get the lion off Gilbert’s hands by pulling at its leg. Gilbert doesn’t seem to mind, preferring to cackle and lift the toy higher from the boy’s reach, much to Peter’s dismay.

“Sorry, boss. You’ll understand when you’re older and have a nagging boyfriend and a whiny girlfriend.”

“She doesn’t have to know! Gimme!”

The shriek made Gilbert wince, noticing that people nearby are starting to turn their heads them. A grown man stealing a little boy’s toy, very immature.

Alfred fidgets, hesitating for a bit, he calls Peter’s attention. “Uh, why don’t I try and win you one?” He says with uncertainty as his eyes divert from Peter’s to Arthur’s, asking for Arthur’s support, maybe. Arthur has yet to fully understand body languages. Especially the ones he rarely use.

All Arthur does is give him a blank stare in return, much to Alfred’s misery. Or something. What do bright, trembling eyes mean again?

Peter, unaware of the signals (no matter how mixed they are) exchanged between his cousin and cousin’s friend, perks up at Alfred’s offer. His hands lets go of Gilbert’s prize in favour of latching on to Alfred’s shirt and lean up to his face by standing on his tip toes, no matter how futile it is. Peter’s four feet won’t be able to reach Alfred’s six, no matter how hard he try. For now, anyway. Arthur has a feeling that this little shit will surpass his height in a few more years.

Alfred is weak to little kids who gaze at him like he’s a hero that’s about to save the day and that is exactly the kind of look Peter is giving him right now, his blue eyes sparkling underneath his dark brows. Arthur doesn’t need to think twice about betting that Alfred’s hesitance will melt in a few moments.

So Alfred walks to the booth, dragging Peter who decided to cling to his leg as he walked, cheering every time Alfred lifts his leg as if Peter weighs nothing. He was about to pull out his wallet to pay for a game when Arthur cuts him off by shoving a larger bill to his free hand, telling Alfred that he needs some change anyway, he doesn’t mind paying for the brat’s shit.

So Arthur hands the cash and Alfred gets three baseballs. Basically, the rule of the game is that he needs to knock down the entirety of what looked liked a bunch of tin cans stacked into a pyramid using only three of the balls. If he runs out of the balls without knocking them down completely, he has to pay again to get more balls.

Arthur knows that shit like those always has a fucking catch. Those shit aren’t tin cans and he bet his entire year’s worth of savings (which is a fucking lot) that those are heavy as fuck and those baseballs aren’t enough to knock those down with three hits. No way.

How Gilbert won himself the largest prize in the booth is a fucking mystery. For all he knows Gilbert might’ve bribed the guy manning the booth.

Then Arthur’s thought halt as he watches Alfred, after a few seconds of mumbling under his breath something about trajectory and momentum and something about pivots---he wasn’t sure on that last one, by the way---Alfred throws one at an angle that Arthur thinks would get him nowhere. That would only hit like, _two_ of the _fake_ tin cans, what an idiot, now he has to suffer to Peter whining at him later about this---

A tin can falls followed the ones atop it, that proceeds to knock down those below from an angle that makes it possible and then the next thing Arthur sees is that the entire thing was knocked down.

And Alfred still has two baseballs left.

He gets the biggest prize too and he picks a lion and he didn’t even get to hold the thing because Peter grabs it from the employee’s hands and proceeds to clutch it close to himself, letting them all know that he’s not planning on letting it go anytime soon and that it’s _his_.

“And they say you can’t use shit you learn in school in real life. _Physics_ , man. _Everyday_ _Science_.” Alfred tells him with a wink, a quirk to his lips that pisses Arthur off because it reminds him so much of those knowing smiles Alfred gives him whenever he tries to make excuses whenever he failed to do something perfect.

 

Arthur frowns. “You flunked your physics.” He deadpanned, hoping to crush that smug face in.

Alfred doesn’t seem as affected though as he shrugs it off with an “Eh,”

Turning back to the employee, he lifts his remaining baseballs, Peter boasting his prize to Gilbert who started moving to a different booth nearby, curious about the game’s mechanics in the background, and asks him, “Can I still win prizes with these?”

The employee blinks for a second, still a bit dazed from Alfred’s little “luck” before shrugging a shoulder and replies, “Sure.”

“Okay,” he mumbles again, moving away from his previous spot to check the stacks of cans from different angles and closes one eye to get a better aim and then, _bang_ , the stack gets knocked down with only one hit again.

He knocks the last stack down afterwards as it appears that he doesn’t need to do that weird ritual he did to the previous two as Arthur watches in well-concealed awe how the pyramid gets knocked down and hears the loud banging of hard _wood_ \---he fucking called it---hitting the wooden table.

He was already expecting Alfred flashing him another of those god-awful looks so he glares at the green bunny and blue unicorn in front of him, wanting them so bad but too scared to play now because doing anything less than what Alfred previously did will never do well on his pride. He doesn’t want anyone looking down on him and if Alfred finds out there was a (another) thing that he’s better at than Arthur, Arthur would fucking die of shame.

His brows furrow when something blocks his vision only to realise Alfred shoved something into his face.

He steps away to see a stuffed animal, the same size as the chauffer’s and Peter’s but instead of being yellow lions, they’re a green---winged!---bunny and a blue unicorn. The same shit he’d craved for moments ago after setting foot in front of this booth.

“I know you dig this shit a lot, so consider this a compensation for the money you spent on this game.” Alfred’s voice says from behind the stuffed animals, too big that they block him out but Arthur can hear the grin that smother the entirety of Alfred’s face.

Meek fingers reach out to grab at the prizes, still reluctant to call them his own when it was Alfred who earned them fair and square but feeling the softness beneath his fingertips, he can’t help himself from squeezing tight and then hug it close to himself, smothering his face.

He must’ve looked ridiculous, a full-grown man (because he’s _twenty_ for fuck’s sake) hugging not one but _two_ almost life-sized stuffed toys in front of the booth where he must’ve won the prizes from (though he really didn’t, he doesn’t think he can ever win one---let alone _two_ \---in his entire life).

But at that moment, thoughts about self-preservation and pride has flown out of his priority check-list, because _goddamn_ these things are _soft as fuck_ and he’s in love.

 

Arthur actually believed for once that bringing someone outside his family into their home and interact with his parents (because his brothers had long since left, already with jobs of their own, living their lives as _free_ men) will not end in disaster, that pushing that nagging feeling in his chest away and ignoring it will make it go away and make this day bearable.

But Murphy’s law states, a voice in his head that sounds a lot like Alfred when he gets into his weird science shit says, that if anything can go wrong, it will.

And go wrong it did.

No one else seemed to have noticed though, just Arthur.

Everyone else played and had as much fun as one would in an amusement park filled with rides and games and over-priced meals but as the sun starting setting down in the horizon, giving way for the cold and dark shades of blue to eat Arthur’s sight that soon gets engulfed in colors and laughter, people in costumes walking down and waving at people, Arthur’s phone started ringing.

“You’re not sleeping at Peter’s house tonight.” Was what his father’s voice said over the line, and then its cut off, not bothering to wait for his son’s response because Arthur’s father’s words are law and he doesn’t have the right to say no unless he wants to leave the house for good and fend for himself.

Because that man provides for everything Arthur wears, eats, and schooling and God forbid he defy his rules.

So with shaking hands that he’s trying so hard not make it so, he tucks his phone back in his pocket and feels the back of his eyes prick and his throat go tight.

He doesn’t even understand why he feels so upset at this. It was just a stupid sleepover.

Not because no one else will be home tonight but his father and he doesn’t want to be alone in that house with him at night.

God, he doesn’t want to go home.

When Alfred’s amused smile turns to him and notices how he paled and everything scared, he gets a playful jab, “What’s wrong, scared of this one?”

When he doesn’t answer and merely looks up at the ride Alfred had referred to, listening to people on it as they scream and cry at every swing, Alfred just laughs and pulls him into the queue.

Arthur is scared, but of something else.

He never felt so scared before since that night months ago.

  
       The rest of the evening went by too quickly than Arthur would’ve liked and now they’re back in the backseat of Peter’s car, feeling cramped because Peter won’t let go of his prize and Arthur holding on to his own two (that Peter made sure he knew how jealous he was over it).

The car stops by Alfred’s rendezvous point, where his brother promised to pick him up right after Arthur drops him off. Arthur gets an angry comment from Gilbert that its rude not to give Alfred a proper farewell, that that is not what good hosts do.

Arthur stops feigning sleep to throw one of the fluffs covering his face at Gilbert. He wanted to say _Fuck being a good host!_ When Alfred laughs and shrugs it off, seemingly unaffected by Arthur’s sudden shift in mood and leans down to whisper in Arthur’s ear, grin big and wide, “I really had fun, thanks,” before giving him a chaste kiss on a cheek before running out to go meet his brother from his car that was parked nearby.

Arthur’s frown deepens, wondering what the hell was that about.

  
       A disgusting wet kiss to his neck and the added weight on his bed was gone, leaving a soft click of his bedroom door shutting closed. Getting up slowly with shaking limbs, what he does first instead of usually walking soundlessly to the bathroom to scrub himself clean was go look for the sewing kit he has always placed under his bed.

He picks his very sharp pair of scissors and grabs his bunny and unicorn that were placed next to his pillows and proceeds to cut their eyes out, then his bunny’s ears too with shaking hands and gasping breath. He wishes his beloved creatures hadn’t seen what they had seen, hadn’t heard what they had heard. Now they know, and he can feel the stares of their beady black eyes on him, disgusted and judging.

_Stop looking at me_.

Snip snap flop, goes their beady eyes, gone from their faces and pops down onto his soiled sheets.

_I’m so sorry_ , because he can’t help it. He fucking came and all that man did was laugh and kiss him with a wet smack he’s shuddering just thinking about it.

Then his gaze moves towards the little mouths, smiling as if they’re about to spill secrets.

He sews them shut, just in case they spill his.

  
       (A little part of his mind says, _I want to kill myself_ , but he smothers it because _that’s taking the easy way out, a cowardly thing to do_ , and Arthur’s not a coward.

So he cleans his mess and puts his pets back where they belonged (in his bed, next to him, in his arms to love him) and scrubs himself clean until his skin is bright red.

He sleeps on dirty sheets and imagines death.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Alfred's characters are so complex even I was surprised it happened bc I wasn't even planning on making something big out of “flaccid dicks” prompt that popped out of my head weeks ago but anyway the point is I'm encouraging you guys to come up and ask me stuff about this fic (be it just to say its nice and creepy or whatever) to why arthur is this and alfred is that. Its also ok to pm me on tumblr (motoroilreeway or nitroplush) but my internet is so slow it barely load any pages or even let me upload a fic without the page reoading and busting on my ass.  
> how I managed to upload today is simple: I'm using our library PCs ain't I a good noodle. So just comment your asks and whatever and I'll try my hardest to visit the pc room and check every now and then. Hahah
> 
> edit as of 03/11/16: another thing, arthur has a thing for dye-ing his hair (all drawn by me)
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> EDIT AS OF 04/17/16:  
> The draw inserted in the chapter was also drawn by me haha.  
> another thing: that jacket ain't alfred's ;)  
> (pls refer to ch 5 :)))) )


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’re you going to call her?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a very short update. Can't really help it when I'm supposed to be studying for my asian history exam (in about 6 hrs) instead of revising this bit
> 
> also I have a very important note regarding this at the end. Please spare a minute or two to read it so we can all understand each other, yea? Good!
> 
> also there was a time I gave my hand at playing guitars but then it turns out that my hands were too soft so one guitar lesson later, I spent the rest of the day with swelling fingers. So now I just stuck with art and writing. //sob  
> Basically I know nothing about musical instruments. So to the actual musicians who read my fic: Spare me and it will be nice if you tell me what you guys think even tho I tried to minimalize the description ;;;;

         At some point in time, a certain memory resurfaces in his head.

Arthur remembers the heat, he and Alfred sitting on the floor of his room, fanning themselves with their crumpled drafts for their lab report because the insides of their bodies feel like a furnace and Arthur thought that if he didn’t get as much air, no matter how warm they are, he’s going to faint from hypertension.

Arthur remembers the sensations but he couldn’t quite make out how their mindless conversation about human life and morality turned into Alfred asking him if his parents know he’s gay.

“Of course they don’t.” Was what he told him, no hesitation, very sure of himself.

Alfred says nothing at first draft still flapping noisily at himself---a desperate attempt to cool his body similar to how Arthur does, but with less grace that makes Arthur internally grimace at the ruin he made of the finely white sheets of paper---then he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.

“Why?”

Arthur frowns at the lack of tact in the question.

“You know why,”

He bites out, glaring holes into his notes, wishing he could make out the jumbled mess of letters and not see his brother’s face.

 

     There was a man standing in front of his flat’s door.

Broad shoulders, red hair, eyes dark and hard that glares at his door number and it made Arthur drop his bag of groceries, spilling candies and chocolates that appeals to children more than the adult that he is who bought them and for a short moment he felt his blood drain from his face as he thinks of the disappointed looks and words his father---the man before him---will say.

Owen’s voice echoes in the back of his head, saying that he should just let it fly over his head, because they’re stupid and they don’t matter but its hard when they’re the very things you hate about yourself, and hearing them come out of this very person’s mouth makes it thrice as painful.

Then the profile of his father turns towards the noise to face him and Arthur sees it.

No, this is not his father.

The eyes, the built, the hair, and even the way he carries himself resembles him, but no, this isn’t him.

A choked gasp manages its way out of Arthur’s throat, a hand gripping his door keys so hard he feels the key’s curves and contours, hard and warm, biting deep into his flesh to the point it starts to tear at his skin.

“…Alistair?”

 

     Alistair is his eldest brother.

He’s everything Arthur isn’t. Or so their parents made him believe until Alistair went into high school, became a senior and got involved in things their parents does not approve and suddenly Alistair is no longer the responsible, smart, and reliable son in the family.

No longer the favourite son.

Well, it did not happen immediately. Alistair’s supposed _fall from grace_ , that is.

It happened after a year or so during Alistair’s university days.

Arthur was barely out of elementary back then, only twelve years old to Alistair’s twenty, but the shouts and screams exchanged between his father and brother were loud and clear, voices booming, resonating throughout their home that Arthur fears the neighbours could overhear and come over and look and they’ll come upon the Kirklands’ eldest son rubbing at his bleeding cheek and spitting blood at their enraged father whose face is as red as the blood that dripped down the side of his face, wet and sticky with his own son’s spit. Blood in the Kirkland patriarch’s knuckle.

The eldest son just wipes and wipes, mumbling something under his breath that made his mother gasp and cry harder, begging them to _stop it, Arthur’s here, not in front of the boy, please_.

At that, Alistair pauses, looks at his mother and bites his tongue from saying anything more hurtful, even if he wanted to, because this is his mother and he loves her the most. Arthur knows it, as well as Dylan and Owen, because Alistair made sure that they all know this, as well as his hate for their father for reasons the younger brothers does not know. Will never know, because Alistair swore he’ll take it to the grave, _for Mum_ , he told them.

He tells them this again, as Alistair grins and bites his fag, the smell unbearable for little Arthur but bears it for a while, because this will be the last time he’ll smell that pungent smell.

Arthur remembers sobbing at that time, begging Alistair to change his mind although he knows that it is futile. Alistair was never the type to change his mind once he said it aloud after all, a habit he’s got since the day he stopped following Dad’s orders and doing whatever he liked, whenever and wherever he wanted.

This time, he wanted out.

Out of the _stifling house, away from their…bastard of a father---_ he says it with a hiss, as if the words were poison--- _because nobody owns him but himself and he’s got the right to do whatever the bloody fuck he wants._

He laughs---not ironically---when his little brothers hug him, his small bag containing what little of the things he _owned_ \---bought by his own money that he got through questionable means that he refused to answer what--- _not the shite that fucker spent with his money_ , falls on the ground _._

 _“Fuck him_ ,” He says, then he whispers to his brothers, eyes crinkling in pain as he breathes deeply through his teeth, the stinking fag still stuck between them, he tells them, “… ** _remember_** , _you have the right to yourselves,”_

Then be pauses, thinking his words carefully in his head and then, “ _Be careful_ , _you lot_ ” he adds---no--- _stresses_.

His voice was trembling as he hugs the three of them tight for the last time.

Arthur remembers seeing the knowing glances his older brothers shared before Alistair finally, truly leaves the Kirkland property with nothing in his name, a look of peace on his face, the smoke from his fag trailing behind him like a cloak of white clouds.

Arthur thought that that was not the face of someone who lost everything they had and fell from grace.

That is the look of someone at peace, tasting freedom for the first time.

 

     Of course, it’s normal for siblings to hate each other.

Sibling rivalry and all.

But Arthur was the youngest brother, and therefore will always be the baby in the family.

Whenever he does anything that will warrant his brothers’ wrath, all he gets was _the look_ and nothing more. But if it were any of them who does it to each other, they’ll get one hell of a beating. None of his brothers back down from a fight after all.

Still, it took Arthur years to realise that his brothers love him.

A few months later after Alistair’s permanent depart, Dylan barges into his room uninvited in the middle of the night.

Arthur was groggy and naturally grumpy when Dylan starts gently shaking him, speaking low, begging him to get up, that this is important.

So Arthur does, eyebrows pointed into a sharp ‘V’.

Instead of looking apologetic though, Dylan just grins and lifts his arms to reveal a box. “Happy Birthday,” he says again in a whisper.

“Guess who’s it’s from, go on,”

The box gets gently shoved into his lap. The excitement alights in his brother’s eyes, a deep shade of green similar to his when Arthur’s hands reluctantly move to remove the seal.

In the box was a pair of dark-colored headphones.

The very same pair he wanted for months for a birthday present.

Arthur knows that something like this, something expensive and useless, his father will never approve to get him these, birthday or not. What he got from his father this morning was a thick heavy textbook filled with maths and variables he does not care to understand. Another disappointing year with a disappointing present.

So the tiny muffled gasp he makes was predictable and the widening grin in Dylan’s eyes was to be expected.

“Come on, come on, and pick it up! It’s yours!”

Dylan’s hands dart toward the box, hands going underneath the headphones and pick a silver card underneath.

It’s a birthday card.

It just says, _Happy birthday brother dear_.

 _Brother dear_.

Arthur couldn’t help himself from reading it in Alistair’s voice, imagining his hands running roughly through his hair, laughing all the while because he likes Arthur’s blond hair, different from his that is red that he got from Dad’s. He always said Arthur was lucky to get his looks from Mum, unlike him who looked so much like a younger version of their Dad. Arthur used to think back then that it was only because Alistair loved Mum.

Well, now he knew.

No one else but Alistair calls him---them--- _brother dear_ , sarcastic or genuine, they couldn’t quite tell with how much Alistair drawls but they stopped caring. Alistair had always been the eccentric type since he stopped following Dad’s orders.

Arthur grabs the headphones and lets it hang on his neck, the weight and bulkiness uncomfortable but welcomed.

There were different feelings running through him as he reads the letters in the card over and over and the same reflects in Dylan’s voice as he tells Arthur, voice firm, “make sure Dad will never see these, alright?”

_Happy birthday, brother dear._

Grasping the headphones close to his chest, he nods.

 

     “Do you want to get some lunch? I’m starving.” Alistair announces as he glances at his watch.

Arthur makes a conscious glance at his surroundings, afraid to see someone he knows from a class seeing him walking with an older man. He gives his brother a dirty look when he feels the weight of Alistair’s arm as it drapes on his shoulder, body close. Alistair had always been the handsy one between the four of them, never seem to manage to keep his hands to himself and always sought for his little brothers to cuddle with. He heard his older brothers complain more than once about people giving them strange looks in the street when they see Alistair hand’s around theirs or their shoulders, thinking they’re some very open gay couple, with Alistair’s red hair and blue eyes from their blonde and green, the distinction between brothers is not easy to see.

He doesn’t even understand why Alistair is here, of all places, even.

They never met face to face ever since the man left their home, that is true, but Alistair made sure to keep in contact with his little brothers in secret.

Except for Arthur.

They talk through calls and emails, but Arthur’s replies are always short and clipped, so their conversations don’t extend much from the usual “How are you doing?” “I’m fine, everything’s okay.”

The fact that Alistair didn’t bother to say anything about him visiting him in his campus makes Arthur twice as unsettled.

He doesn’t like doing things out of his routine, after all.

Its 1 pm, his class ended two hours ago. The hour after that was spent on him browsing candy isles and deciding how much can he waste on pretty-looking candies that he’ll most likely give away to his flatmates or Alfred before the ants get them or reach the expiration date. After that he’ll sleep the afternoon off until he can eat his dinner and sleep again.

Not like this.

That didn’t stop Arthur from bringing Alistair to a nearby Ramen shop to eat, though.

When Arthur pointed at a cart by the corner of the street, telling his brother that their ramen is very popular to the students, he notices the look of unease in his brother’s face. The confident steps became uncertain and fidgety and if the air could get any hotter, sweat could’ve formed on his forehead.

Arthur wonders why Alistair suddenly stops in his tracks, grasping at Arthur’s wrist like a child pulling after their parent, asking them not to leave.

“What if…I take you out somewhere _nicer_ , eh?”

 

     They ended up in some restaurant inside a mall a town away from his campus.

The amount of attention and friendliness of their waiter unsettled Arthur, but his brother doesn’t seem to mind, calling the waiter by his preferred name liberally and took advantage of his attentiveness whenever Alistair needed something.

Arthur glares at his brother across the table, silently berating the older “Why not ask for them all at once, you inconsiderate fuck?”

The food are expensive, definitely not something Arthur would consider to eat at any time of the week. Their food isn’t even that impressive. Why Alistair bothered to take a one-hour drive to get here surprises Arthur.

When the food comes, Arthur silently eats, nibbling at his bread as he pretends to listen to his brother’s one-sided conversation, making sure to nod and agree whenever Alistair stops to ask if he had been listening.

Surprisingly, it was Alistair who finished his meal first, who ordered a larger portion for himself than Arthur’s. Barely eating half of his plate though, Arthur was already feeling full, so he urges his brother to pay for the bills already so they can leave, which Alistair does with no questions asked. He doesn’t seem to mind that his little brother had grown to be such a food waster. So much left-over compared to Alistair’s very empty plate, not a single speck of food left save for the sauce. If Arthur didn’t know any better, his brother would’ve licked the plates clean too if they weren’t eating in public.

The smile on the waiter’s face seem to grow bigger and brighter when Alistair tips him half the price of the bill. He even got out of his way to greet them a goodbye as they leave the establishment, Alistair nodding and smiling in return as he ushers a fidgety Arthur out.

Arthur doesn’t think he could ever get used to people like those. Very loud and accommodating, that is.

When they leave, Arthur wonders why they’re walking around in the mall.

The questioning look directed at the older brother was answered by “I heard what happened to Stardust,” and a shrug.

Arthur frowns.

Stardust.

It was months ago, December 22nd, he remembers. Arthur thinks that he’ll never forget that fucking day until the day he dies.

It was one of those days.

When his father suddenly gets so mad at him for even just existing, so he snaps, almost scaring his Mum in her seat when her husband suddenly stand up and starts saying angry things.

Then he sees him, sitting quietly on a seat opposite theirs, trying to mind his own business and wishing to get eaten up by the ground because Arthur knows that that look will be never be good.

So as expected, that anger turns on him, then it moves on a tangent and suddenly everything Arthur did is everything his father hated. Like what is he planning with his life, failing every class he takes? How long is he going to embarrass him in front of people when they find out that his son can’t even study right. Is it because of his damn “music”---he quoted the words angrily, fingers and all and Arthur thought those fingers will come off with how hard he moved them---again? He should be paying attention on his maths and sciences, not those stupid words and angry noises that doesn’t make sense. He’s not making any of them proud. It’s that guitar’s fault---

Then he leaves the room, Arthur’s heart beating out of his chest. He just mentioned his guitar.

God, let it be not what he thought it was.

\---his father is back with Stardust, her neck gripped painfully by his father’s big hand, white and angry around it.

Then in a moment, Arthur’s dreams were shattered into bits and left scattered on their pristine marble floor. Gone.

 

       “Oy,Art.” Arthur jumps as he was suddenly pulled away from his little reminiscence. His brother just gives him a side glance, scowling. The way his mouth was slighting crooked was saying that he was more upset that it’s not allowed to smoke in malls, though so Arthur didn’t give his look a care.

That is, until he notice where they were standing.

A music shop.

Arthur must have been standing for too long at the sign as Alistair grumbled and pushed him rather too rough inside.

“Come on,” he tells him.

Shooting a scathing glare at the back of his brother’s head, he follows, silently grumbling and rubbing at a spot on his arm that Alistair pushed at too hard. Always a dickhead.

Usually, when Arthur goes out to buy things on stores like these, he prefers to linger on aisles until one of the salespersons notices him and asks him for what he needs. That way, he doesn’t need to approach one of them looking like he doesn’t belong in the establishment and get most likely ignored until he speaks louder but by then his confidence is fully crushed and he will go home humiliated. It’ll take him a couple more months before he gets the courage to return to the mall again after that.

Alistair though, seemed to think otherwise.

The moment they enter the shop, the frown on Alistair’s face deepens and without much of a second thought, he finds a salesperson who was currently talking to some patrons and starts demanding attention.

Of course, when the salesperson politely tells him to wait, he does, with an impatient scowl with his arms crossed over his chest. The stereotypical annoying/demanding customer pose.

“Go have a look around while we wait,” he says with a wave of his hand at Arthur, shooing his little brother away which Arthur does without much of a fuss. If he stayed away from Alistair maybe people will not think they came in the shop together.

Alistair is already starting to embarrass him.

So there he goes to the displays. Admiring the designs, occasionally swooning at the descriptions written below each instrument and shuddering at the number of zeroes he finds in the price tags.

Every time he sees an instrument and equipment he likes, he can’t help but check the price and pale at them. He doesn’t think Alistair is really serious about this.

“You want that one?”

He doesn’t notice that his hand had reached out to one of the pretty ones he’d seen at the display, his fingers experimentally tugging and strumming. He jumps when he suddenly hears his brother’s voice right behind him.

 _Yes_ , he wanted to tell him, but again, the price tag says it has zeroes too many and he doesn’t even know just how much was his brother willing to pay for whatever guitar he picks.

Wanting it so much but too afraid for his brother’s reaction, he ended up stammering a squeak that sounds like a cross between yes and no.

Alistair appeared unimpressed but turns to the salesperson standing next to him anyway.

“Show me that one.” He points at the guitar Arthur was previously touching, much to Arthur’s horror. The salesperson appeared to be happy though, at the prospect of selling something expensive, most likely. They always appear eager when you look like you’re willing to buy an expensive product then become snobbish dicks when you say you’re not interested after all.

So when the salesperson leaves to plug the guitar somewhere for a sound test, he approaches his brother and drops the bomb.

To which Alistair only answers with an annoyed grumble of “yea, yea.”

 

       During the sound testing, all Alistair did was tell the salesperson to “talk to my brother, he’s the one who knows it” whenever they talk about its features and how so easy it is to be held and all the nice things Arthur had known the guitar can do when he first laid his eyes on it. Then when it was all over, Alistair asks him, “Is this what you _really want?_ Because if you don’t then we’ll look somewhere else.”

This time, Arthur meant it when he nodded distractedly, eyes focused on the guitar. He’s already coming up with a name for her.

In the end, Alistair bought her for him.

On the ride back to Arthur’s apartment, Alistair asked, “What’re you going to call her?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything and Alistair thought that it was a topic that is not yet open for a discussion but then Arthur says---more like whispers, really, as if afraid that saying her name too loudly she’ll follow her predecessor immediately.

“Spellcaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About a few years ago, I wrote a research paper about how men and women depicted in television affects the youth’s impression on “gender roles” and basically one of the subheadings in my research was about how the numbers of women raped by their own fathers (in the Philippines) was more frequent than the usual “raped by a non-relative”, and that only around 2% were ever reported. One of the factors that contribute to why was that (1) fathers have power over their children, especially if you’re a woman---considering most households are patriarchal; (2) they’re threatened that their mother/siblings will be hurt/killed if they tell anyone; (3) the fear of a broken family; (4) the shame---basically goes down to the daughters seducing their own fathers and thus gets the blame for getting raped (which ironically, was also used by the [Spanish] friars during the Hispanic period because of the number of women these supposed “servants of God” impregnated. I’m telling you, we’re not exaggerating when we say like 2/3 of our invaders are rapists because after the friars we get the japs)  
> I guess what’s more sad with this is that there are cases that the mother knows and lets her husband rape her daughter(s) anyway because she doesn’t want him to leave her. I want to say I’m kidding but I’m not. They happen even today.  
> Grosser cases were that the guy is a widower, rapes his daughter, impregnates daughter and then later rapes daughter’s daughter who is like his daughter-slash-granddaughter. A case like this was literally broadcasted in the Philippine news television years ago and a year ago, we watched an indie film based on this for our movie reading class and I barfed outside the lect hall afterwards. Men are pigs.  
> Basically fathers don't just rape A DAUGHTER. If they have more then HECK YEA MORE CHOICES. Again, men are pigs.
> 
> ANOTHER THING: what do you guys say to another (USUKUS!!!!!) fic installsment in the Erotomania series soon? (haha I have no life)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t happen to be Arthur’s boyfriend, do you?”
> 
> "And what if I am?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Short chapter again, I know. It’s because I thought this scene was better off alone than being grouped with the next part bc it was…intense. Yea. 
> 
> Or more like I thought it was, and I was like “wait people won’t be able to handle too many things happening at once” so there. I chopped it off. But I still had to include this because this plays a big role later on. Like hella BIG.
> 
> I promise, you guys will be spared of the barrage of drama that will pile on Arthur. Alfred though, not so much. I honestly felt bad for him.

       “Changed your mind yet?”

They were at the front of his apartment’s door and Arthur was about to push his key into the lock when Alistair suddenly asks him out of the blue.

Not giving Alistair any mind, annoyed at the insistence in his brother’s voice, he replies with a curt “No. Never.”

Arthur voice was small, but the emptiness of the hallway helped in getting his message across.

Behind him, he hears his brother give an exasperated sigh and he doesn’t need to turn his head to look and the horrible scowl set on that face, teeth biting the end of his fag, threatening to be crushed. It’s a terrifying look on that face, but Arthur knows better than to be scared of Alistair of all people. He knows that this anger will pass.

“Art—“

“No. I told you before and I’m telling you again,” He turns finally look at his brother and was surprised to see no scowl but a frown. He appeared _concerned_ , and it made Arthur’s insides twist in ways that made him feel nauseous. “ _No.”_

At this, Alistair appeared out of sorts, a hand moves to tangle into his red hair---dark and bright and heavy---and the other to hold unto his fag to take a deep inhale of that dark smoke. He takes slow, deliberate steps towards him, hands raised, as if to grab.

“ _Arthur_ , listen to me,” He says, voice low and very soft. Arthur flinches when he felt those large, warm hands hold the sides of his arms, dark eyes peering directly into his.

“You’re not obligated to stay there anymore. Owen told me, and I don’t care. You can come with _me_ and I’ll provide for you. You don’t have to worry about him finding you---”

“How many times do I have to say ‘No’! What makes you think I didn’t choose to live like this?” Arthur snarls, shrugging those--- _damned_ \---hands off of him. He internally panics, hearing his own voice quiver, the muscles underneath his skin quake and go cold.

_How dare he. How dare he **assume**_ _that he knows what’s going on._

_Alistair was never there with them growing up. He wasn’t Arthur who was raised to only say yes and ask “from which floor” if he was told to jump._

_(and roll into his hands and knees, legs wide open when told to “roll”)_

_He doesn’t know anything._

The look on Alistair’s face was unreadable, as he stands idly, just staring at Arthur as he was about to tremble and collapse on the floor. With a sober voice, he replies.

“It’s because I know---“

Arthur’s eyes widen.

 

         “...Arthur?”

The brothers pause, heads turn swiftly towards the new voice.

Alfred.

There’s a scowl on his face, and Arthur thinks that this is the first time he’s ever seen the expression on the other’s face before. Too used to his carefree smiles and silly pouts.

For a moment, Arthur actually thought he was in front of someone else. Someone else who could actually beat the living daylights out of his brother if need be with the way Alfred looks at his brother right now.

“Hey, ever heard of ‘No’ before?”

When that steely gaze moved to him, he heard him say, directed at Alistair again, “You don’t happen to be Arthur’s boyfriend, do you?”

Eyes not leaving Alfred’s he hears Alistair snort softly and Arthur remembers Owen and Dylan’s complaints.

Alistair does what Arthur had expected upon hearing that little snort.

Alistair drapes his arm over Arthur’s shoulders, holding him a tad too tight against him that half of Arthur face pressed into his brother’s chest that he can smell the heavy musk of his cologne. It was suffocating, and the odour reminds him of the brand their father was fond of. He held his breath to avoid getting more whiffs of that horrible smell.

“And what if I am?” He goads. He appeared amused rather than annoyed at Alfred’s scowl.

He gets a pound to the chest for that, for acting stupid at times like this. He doesn’t even know who the fuck Alfred is, seeing his friend for the first time.

Arthur (somewhat) understands why Alfred was acting all mature and responsible at the moment, but Alistair doesn’t have an excuse for his behaviour right now.

Alfred was silent.

“Alista---“

Arthur squeaks when he was suddenly shoved towards Alfred, who was caught off-guard but caught him into his arms nonetheless. Arthur turns his head to glare at Alistair, “Alistair! What the hell is wrong with you!”

Arthur was shrieking by then, too confused and angry he doesn’t know which emotion should he give in to.

Alistair just laughs---and Arthur finds it disturbing as it sounds too unreal, as if forced but somehow Alistair managed to make it sound believable---his head turning left and right. He roughly ruffles Arthur’s hair on his way out. Arthur was about to shove that hand away, still too angry and confused at the sudden turn of his brother’s mood when Alfred beat him to it. It seemed to amuse Alistair more as he laughed harder on his way out---real, this time.

“Let’s meet properly some time, kid!” He calls out.

And then he’s gone.

 

            The scowl on Alfred’s face lifts upon Alistair’s departure. Now, he just looked confused, as he holds Arthur away from him, to give a little distance between them.

Face scrunched in confusion, he asks, “he’s not really your boyfriend, is he? I mean, I know I told you like a hundred times that you should prolly get one one of these days just because, and I don’t judge if you prefer older dudes with serious cash---I get the money problem---but---“

That was when Arthur decides it’s best to finally cut him off.

“That was my brother.” He clarifies, not amused.

“And that would be disgusting,” he added as an afterthought.

Alfred was silent for a while, before he appears flabbergasted.

“What, really? He doesn’t look like you at all.”

Shrugging Alfred’s hands off his, he remarks, “That’s because I look like Mum and he took after Dad’s.”

“I didn’t notice.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow at that.

“Haven’t you met Dad before? Alistair’s a spitting image of him.” Now that he mentions it, he wonders how Alfred never recognized Alistair’s face.

“Well, the first and last time I—“ he raises both hands, fingers moving to quote “ _\---met_ him was when he came into your room to wake us up.”

“Your point?”

“He came to _wake_ us up. Unless I sleep with my glasses on, I would’ve gotten a good look on his face. Literally all I saw was his blurry hair and those monster eyebrows.” Alfred elaborates, and then he gives Arthur a teasing grin.

Arthur frowns at the comment, brows furrowed. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“Your eyebrow lineage!”

A hand darted to cover his eyebrows, suddenly feeling conscious of them. “And what about my _eyebrows_?”

Seeing Arthur become defensive over his brows, Alfred’s grin began to falter. “W-well, they’re…you know,” he says, his arms flopping lamely back and forth at his side, not sure whether to raise them up or keep them still on his sides.

When Alfred remained silent for a moment, Arthur sighs. He returns by the door and finally opens it. Holding Spellcaster on his free hand, he gestures to the apartment’s dark interior, “You coming in?” He asks Alfred.

Alfred must’ve forgotten what he came for, as he appeared taken aback at first. A lingering look on Spellcaster’s case and the box of amps by his side, Alfred nods.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/N: Alistair was being creepy weird, I know. But experiencing first degree incest as part of growin up kind of blurred out the line of being touchy-feely with siblings to the point of being creepy even though it was purely platonic on his part. People obviously don’t see it as such though. 
> 
> Alistair has some weird sense of humor but then again it’s awkward as fuck if someone were to walk-in on you and your brother when you guys are trying to have a one-sided moment where you’re trying to save your brother from your rapist of a father and trying to be vague on your reasons because what if he hasn’t touched your brother yet and he thinks that you’re just accusing your father of being a rapist bc you hate him?
> 
> Alfred being weirdly protective: If you walk-in to your friend being grabbed by an older dude and your friend was saying “NO” as the older dude begs for them to come with him, you’ll prolly stand up to your friend too. Because I would.
> 
> EDIT AS OF 04/17/16:  
> I uh sketched alistair kirkland   
> he does look like a younger ver of their dad, with alistair's hair being longer  
> hit me up if ya'll want me to draw the wales and ireland for this au  
> I didn't draw them bc they're not really that important in this au unlike scotland


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You men are so lucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We’ll be calling Belgium Emma and Netherlands Ned because I suck at naming people

         Arthur wonders why the house was empty at this hour.

Turning on the lights of their living room, he realises that the house is not as empty as he thought it was.

Stuck between the wall and their couch, was Emma---one of his flatmates, crouched and whimpering lowly. Her shoulders shuddered every time she gasps for a breath. Her voice sounded dry, and Arthur can bet that she had cried the last of her tears long ago.

What made her cry this much, it worried Arthur to find out.

Immediately, he shoves Spellcaster towards Alfred. His friend was too confused to do anything but squeak and grasp for the guitar case lest it crash to the ground as Arthur runs to where Emma was crouching.

Gently, he calls her out. His arm outstretched, but not touching. Too afraid of how she may react.

Emma jumps at Arthur’s voice, and at that, he sees her face.

Her makeup was smudged.

What disturbed Arthur---and Alfred, as he followed Arthur to check on her---were the bruises on her arm and face.

“A-arthur! O-oh gosh, I’m---“ She says rather loudly, her voice cracking and trembling, as her hands did as they unconsciously scramble to pull at her dress. It was stained with blood.

Looking at the way she acted so out of character, the words on Arthur’s throat refused to come out.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Alfred says, voicing Arthur’s concerns.

Emma turns a terrified eye at Alfred for a moment, wondering who the stranger was, her hands scrambling up and down her dress, pulling it down and trying to dust off imaginary dirt. It was so filthy with dirt and blood Arthur felt like he’s going to be sick.

She presses herself back into the wall behind her when she saw Alfred’s hand dart towards her shoulders, afraid of his touch.

“I---I’m…yes, I’m okay…” She replies, nonetheless, nodding as if she was telling these to herself.

Then she looks at Arthur, who appeared as horrified as her and she cries. Jumping into Arthur’s arms, she started sobbing, her entire being shuddering. Arthur thought for a moment that the shudders could’ve been from him.

“I’m okay, I’m fine!” She says over her wails.

Arthur couldn’t do anything but hold her.

He couldn’t find it in himself to say that she truly is alright.

 

            In the end, they had to go to the police station.  


Ned looked like he was about to commit a murder.

When the police came to take Emma to report to the station, Arthur had no choice but to come along, as she refused to speak or walk without Arthur and Ned by her side.

“He’s…old.” She says, head resting on Arthur’s shoulders and her arms around his side.

“Can you give a range on what his age might be?”

She shrugs lamely. “I’m not sure, about 60 to 70 years old, I think.”

There was hoot among the police near their desk. “Damn, grandpa still has some moves.”

Arthur notices how Emma’s eyes move away from the cop who was typing down her statement when she heard him snort at his colleague’s comment. He says to his colleague in turn, “He’s got good taste too, doesn’t he?”

Ned shoots them a disgusted look. He appeared to be about to stand up from where he sat on his sister’s other side, when Emma suddenly blurts, “Can we do this some other time?”

The cop on the desktop appeared surprised, “We won’t be able to help you if you don’t tell us what happened Ma’am.” He said, blinking in confusion.

“Please, I can’t do it.” She pleaded. She looked like she was about to cry again, as her voice was starting to hitch and press herself close to Arthur’s chest, hiding her tired face.

Promising the station that they will call as soon as Emma was ready to give her statement again, they left the station.

The steps they took to get them out of that stifling establishment was heavy. It felt like it took forever for them for get out, Emma’s leg’s giving out one time too many as the tears started flowing and her body shaking like a leaf despite the warm coat Ned had wrapped her in before they decided to leave the flat.

When they get back at the flat, Arthur was surprised to see Alfred sitting by their door, perking up upon seeing them.

It the first time Ned and Emma had seen Alfred and so when Ned had seen his sister flinch and stay away from him, he made sure Alfred stayed _away_ from his sister.

Emma doesn’t need to be stressed. She has to rest.

Seeing Ned’s heavy gaze land on him, Alfred gets the signal and stands to move to the opposite side of the door, going as far as pressing himself against it, to show Ned that he means no harm. Ned ignores him and takes Emma from Arthur, gently coaxing her back into the flat.

“I’m leaving the door unlocked,” Ned says before he closes the door with a slam that made Alfred and Arthur wince.

At Arthur’s look, Alfred fidgets, hands moving to rub at his sides, as if cold. “I…how was your friend?”

“What do you think?” Arthur says. It doesn’t sound snappy or angry. It was an empty retort, tired.

Arthur knows more than anyone that Emma is not okay. It will get tiring, but the feeling will never go away. It will be always there, like an annoying stain on a white shirt that no bleach can ever remove.

Alfred stares at Arthur with concern as Arthur sighs and throws himself against the wall Alfred was leaning on. He doesn’t wince when the hard concrete slams on his back and instead slowly slides down to sit on the floor. He hid his face between his knees, his hands roughly messing his hair as he inhales deep, frustrated.

_The ride back from the station was filled with tense silence. Ned eyes the road as if it personally offended him, hands gripping the steering wheel tight that it made his knuckles white. Arthur and Emma were situated at the back. Emma has her head resting on the window, her breathing making the window fog._

_“Sometimes I’ve wished I was a boy, but I never understood why. I just do.” She mutters out of the blue, catching Arthur’s attention. Ned doesn’t seem to have heard her as he kept his eyes on the road with terrifying concentration._

_When she turns her head towards Arthur, he sees her face._

_Emma had always been the bubbly one, smiling and giggling most of the time Arthur had been with her. She’s beautiful, Arthur knows. It always made him feel nervous to stand close to her, next to someone so beautiful and Arthur wonders what kind of products does she use on her face to keep them soft and smooth._

_Now though, the stress of carrying the weight of the situation took a toll on her, emotionally and physically that it showed. Her eyes appeared heavy and she looks **so tired** as she slumps on her seat. She looked a couple of shades paler that Arthur thinks if she falls asleep right then they would’ve mistaken her for a corpse (and it’ll probably finally put a legitimated expression on Ned’s face if that were to truly happen)._

_Emma seemed to have noticed the kind of look Arthur was giving her, as she turns her head down, her hair covering her face (Arthur notices the lack of ribbon on her head)._

_“I thought I wanted to be a boy so that I can be justified for liking girls, but---so what if I liked wearing dresses? It doesn’t make me like girls less. It’s just a piece of fabric. I just wanted to help, you know? He seemed like he’s having a hard time carrying his groceries so I offered. The next thing I know I was on the ground, pushing him away---”_

_She gives a shuddering gasp, before slowly, raises her head. She looks at Arthur with eyes filled with envy so intense it could be felt in the car._

_“You men are so lucky.”_

_The ride back from the station was filled with tense silence._

 

       “No, we aren’t.” Arthur finally replies. It was probably a tad too late, as the person he directed the answer to was no longer present.

Alfred stares at him sympathetically, crouching down to Arthur level and puts an arm on his shoulder. He doesn’t question Arthur’s words, and instead says, “Wanna get out of here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/N: The cops: no kidding. “I mean, yea, it’s a rape case, poor girl but damn a grandpa did it? Goddamn grandpa still have some moves lol” The amount of rape jokes I encountered in this country made me wanna jump the nearest plane and leave. People are so horrible. I’m not kidding when I say this kind of stigma still exists. There’s a reason the rape cases reported as of today kept on decreasing. People tend to blame and laugh at the victim for “being stupid”.
> 
> I don’t remember anything else that I need to add/point out, but if you guys wanted to further elaborate, just drop a comment or send me a pm on my either of my blogs motoroilfreeway or nitroplush. I’m always more than happy to point out the statistics :)
> 
> So, about arthur’s flatmates reacting to Alfred and vice-versa: in all the years they’ve been bffs and Alfred usually hanging out in Arthur’s apartment whenever he felt like dropping by he never got to see Arthur’s flatmates. Ever. Mainly because Alfred and Arthur hang out on noons when ned and emma have classes or out hanging out with friends. They also tend to go home weekly to their parents’, so Alfred never got to see them on the weekends when he spend the night at Arthur’s.
> 
> So like, 1 more chapter left before the epilogue. I think I can actually finish a muti-chap. I’m writing the last chapter as of rn, putting off revising my paper and writing my methodology so ya’ll better be grateful (ppppffffttt)  
> I wanna know what you guys think will happen :))))))))


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wanna get out of here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally the last chapter (before the epilogue). This is the ending. Also Arthur is gonna sing, and I want you guys to imagine his voice like when he’s singing his character songs okay? (by that I mean, yanno, manly and deep-ish. He’s got a really cute voice, reminds me of The Clash or something. Joe Strummer has a cute voice.

            “Wanna get out of here?”

Arthur’s eyes widen behind his knees and Arthur felt his pupils dilate.

He tried to steady his breathing as well as his beating heart that started beating in staccato. He silently cusses at Alfred’s choice of words.

_“Wanna get out of here?”_

Keeping his breathing in check, he nods, head still tucked between his knees.

 

            It was a known thing between them that Arthur is off limits in Alfred’s dorm because Arthur’s father had forbidden it, but tonight, Arthur felt rebellious. So when Alfred offers, he accepts.

(And it felt good on his frayed nerves.)

“Sorry, we don’t have any chairs in here,” Alfred says hastily, absently kicking discarded clothes lying around on the floor.

“Your room looked different,” Arthur remarks, looking around the room. It doesn’t look like the room he stepped into all those years ago, when Alfred first brought him here.

It was strange, knowing that the last time he saw this was also the first time he was brought in. He never really went back here after Alfred brought him the first time because Dad has forbidden him from going to this part of the campus, as it was known to be more isolated than the rest. Not many truly come here, and it shows in the dormitory’s number of vacant slots.

Alfred turns to look at him, a hand balling a dirty shirt.

“Oh, I moved rooms.” He said as he shot the ball of shirt in a bin.

“Huh,” Arthur says absently. The room was smaller, only able to fit two beds which were situated at the opposite sides of the room.

“Which of these are yours?”

 

          They were sitting on the floor, both leaning on Alfred’s single bed, drinking Alfred’s roommate’s stock of beer that Arthur found in their mini-fridge. The guy will be spending the night at a friend’s, so its not like he will suddenly walk-in on them drinking it behind his back. Besides, Arthur promised Alfred that they’ll replace the thing first thing in the morning.

They drink and talk about mundane things, until Alfred suddenly asks, “So that thing you were holding before, was that a guitar”

Arthur quirks an eyebrow, his own can of beer about to touch his lips when he pauses to give his friend a side-glance.

He was silent as he thought it over, then remembers the look Alfred gave Spellcaster in her case not long ago. He nods, then downs the entire can in one gulp and burps.

“That was Spellcaster.”

Alfred tucks his own can between his knees, a hand cupping his chin. His eyebrows raise as he confusedly parrots, “Spellcaster?”

“My electric guitar.” Was Arthur’s reply, too occupied in opening himself a new can. A glance at the cans remaining, he clicks his tongue. They’re running low on booze faster than he’d liked.

“Wait wait wait wait, _you_ play?” At this, Arthur turns to give him an offended look. Alfred sounded like he doesn’t believe Arthur is the type of person who plays guitar. An electric one, at that.

“You don’t come off as the type of guy who plays guitar. _Electric_ guitar.”

“What happened to ‘you’re good at reading people’ now, hm?” He grumbles, looking away. He proceeds to sip at his beer, drinking it at a leisurely pace this time.

“Well,” Alfred starts and when Arthur turns to look at him, he looks smug.

“I was right that you were one of those dudes who name their stuff but I kind of pegged you as a bass-guy.”

_Snort_.

“Bass can only do so much unless you’re in a band, which I’m not. Music is just a hobby.”

“Woah, really?” _Sip_.

“Wait! I got an idea, wait here.” Then Alfred stands to run out of the room, the door slamming hard.

Arthur winces then gives the beer cans scattered around them a wary glance. He hopes that Alfred’s dorm dean did not hear that noise or they’ll be in trouble.

Then his thoughts come to a halt when the door slams open again, Alfred entering with an acoustic guitar in hand.

“Play something for me!” He says.

He blinks in confusion, then shrugs and accepts the guitar that Alfred handed him.

 

            Turns out that Alfred has _very low_ alcohol tolerance.

His face was already red and his movements have gotten groggy by the time they were finally on their last cans of beer. Alfred claims that he’s still sober and wanted another song. _Something you wrote this time, please._

“W-what?”

“Yeah, something _you_ wrote. You play so I bet you totally write your own songs, right? I wanna hear it.”

“I…I don’t think you’ll---“

“Hey,” Alfred cuts him off, “I’m basically drunk off my ass, if it sucks I wouldn’t be able to hurt your feelings much because it’s probably amazing and I was too drunk to know.”

Arthur frowns. _Didn’t you just say you were sober?_ He wanted to tell him.

But instead he clears his throat.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

“Wow, sick melodies man,” Alfred says.

“Shut up.”

He inhales, trying to calm his nerves.

A song he wrote.

Alfred was right, he does write songs, _but its just to past time, so…its not really, er_ …

With nervous fingers, he starts strumming.

He remembers this is an acoustic guitar so he does little adjustments to the notes and began to sing.

 

_You don't always have to fuck him hard_

Arthur gulps, turning nervous eyes towards Alfred who just stares at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Gulping again, he looks back down on the strings and continues.

__  
In fact sometimes that's not right to do  
_Sometimes you've got to make some love_  
And fucking give him some smoochies too  
  


_Sometimes ya got to squeeze_  
Sometimes you've got to say please  
  


_Sometime you've got to say hey_  
  


_I'm gonna Fuck you softly_  
I'm gonna screw you gently  
I'm gonna hump you sweetly  
I'm gonna ball you discreetly  
  


_And then you say hey I bought you flowers_  
And then you say wait a minute sally  
I think I got somethin in my teeth  
Could you get it out for me  
  


_That's fucking teamwork_  
  


_What's your fave posish?_  
That's cool with me  
It's not my favorite  
But I'll do it for you  
  


_What's your favorite dish?_  
I'm not gonna cook it  
But I'll order it from Zanzibar

__  
And then I'm gonna love you completely  
And then I'll fucking fuck you discreetly  
And then I'll fucking bone you completely  
  


“But then I'm gonna fuck you ha---“

Arthur grunts when his back hits the hard, concrete floor as Alfred body cover his with their lips locked.

 

            There were two things that ran in Arthur’s head the moment he realised that Alfred actually jumped him and is still kissing him, sloppy it may be.

One: his breath reeks of beer and its disgusting as fuck because he can taste on his tongue as he instinctively started sucking on it, making Alfred groan and tremble above him.

Two: Alfred’s lips are soft that he can’t help biting it when Alfred slowly pulls out, mouth open. His saliva drips on Arthur as he goes and Arthur does not mind when it trickled down his chin. Their lips separate with a pop, as Arthur was reluctant to let go of Alfred’s tongue, sucking on it harshly and trying to take the taste away.

He absently remembers the guitar that was pressing into his rib uncomfortably and so moves to let it lie on the floor next to him.

When he tries to sit up, to properly kiss Alfred this time, he notices the strange look on Alfred’s face. He was about to ask what was wrong when Alfred starts flailing on his lap.

“Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry. Uh, you just---“ He says, blinking and fidgeting, his voice sounded very apologetic. Sincere.

He can’t help but laugh. “Alfred,” He calls him. His hands coming rest on Alfred’s trembling shoulders, and he presses down to keep Alfred from standing up and stop straddling him.

Peering into Alfred’s face, he asks, “Do you want me?”

It made Alfred stop his funny flailing, and Arthur notices the way he starts stammering harder than before, face red.

“U-uh…N—well---“

He bites his bottom lip, trying to stop himself from smiling, from laughing and making Alfred any more uncomfortable than he already is.

“It’s a yes or no question, Alfred. I won’t mind. It’s alright.” Somehow it felt right when he moved his hands, the other finding its way in Alfred’s head to tangle into his hair, brushing it away from his face to properly peer at them while the other moves down to Alfred’s chin, wiping off the saliva.

“Do you want me?”

He sees Alfred visibly gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he does so. Then he nods, his face heating up once more.

“I’m really sorry,” He says and Arthur pecks him on the lips for that.

“I don’t mind.”

Then they kiss again, hot and soft and wet and Arthur _loved_ it.

 

            When Arthur’s hands move down to Alfred’s trousers, pulling at the belt, popping the buttons and pulling the zipper down to slide his hands in to cup him proper, he stops.

Alfred notices Arthur’s sudden pause and upon realising that one of Arthur’s hands had stopped pinching one of his nipples under his shirt and was instead cupping him, he jumps nervously. Pulls Arthur’s hands out of his jeans and instead holds his hand between his.

“I—I’m sorry, fuck. I think I had too much to drink I can’t get it up---fuck, but I meant when I sa---“ At that point Arthur had blocked out the rest of Alfred’s words. Still very apologetic and sincere. As if Arthur doesn’t want or would mind having sex with him right now when Arthur really does not mind. He needs a release somewhere too, and if Alfred’s offering, well, who was he to refuse? _He doesn’t mind._

But what really got Arthur to stop and think right now was that Alfred was soft.

Arthur couldn’t believe it.

Then he hears Alfred’s rambling stop, and Arthur notices that he’s crying.

Arthur thinks he must’ve looked pathetic right now, his hand held by Alfred who was currently straddling his thighs with his pants open, exposing his limp cock as Arthur cries like it was his happiest day in his life.

Well, it could be.

For once, he actually saw someone who’s looking at him without getting aroused.

And it made him so _happy_ he started crying in joy.

“Arthur! Oh my god, are you okay? Shit! I’m so sorry---!”

He stops Alfred with a kiss on the lips, chaste and warm and giddy.

Then he hugs him.

Alfred was still confused it seems, but at least the ramblings had stopped and Arthur appreciates it.

“A-art? What is it?”

“Shhh. You’re _perfect._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> E/N: So, I’ve been reading your comments but sometimes I refuse to answer because I might spoil it for you so now that this is over I’m answering them: I want to apologise that this wont be the kind of ending you guys would’ve wanted where Arthur will confide in Alfred and Alfred will take the matter into his own hands and save Arthur from his own tragedy. No, I don’t think its that easy to fix anyway. Arthur has to deal with this on his own. Which now he knows how and will act upon it in the epilogue. 
> 
> The basic plot that came into my head when I got the flaccid dicks prompt is that it will be about a guy who’s obsessed with limp dicks and meets a guy he will sort of like and when they were about to frick frack the guy can’t get hard because they drank so much booze and the protag will proceed to fall head over heels and will say something like “you’re perfect” but like I said before it suddenly developed its own depth so I had to improvise but I still want the ending to turn out that way so here we are. But the ending still fits, given that Arthur grew up with the mindset that everyone wants to have sex with him so seeing alfred not aroused in the middle of foreplay gave him hope that maybe he's wrong after all.
> 
> I wrote this fic mainly because I wanted to write the ending. This is the ending. This was long planned and this is the ending written in the outline I made in my head. Which was weird because for once its relatively happy than what I usually write. Basically quoting a friend,”if you did A saves B, then it wouldn’t be a motoroilfreeway story… Angst and tragedy is your thing” ---I think I just died reading that
> 
> The song Arthur sung wasn’t actually written by him (or by the Author, really haha.) The song is titled “Fuck her gently” by Tenacious D. Since Arthur’s gay, I had to change every female pronouns into male because he’s directing the song to whomever he fucks. This is kind of their theme song/couple song or whatever-you-call-it song. This will definitely the song that’ll play on their wedding day, I swear.
> 
> Another thing: yes, Arthur’s had his own fair share of consensual sex with people that he liked enough (hence why he suddenly got turned on when Alfred say “wanna get out of here” because it reminds him of what people tell him before they have sex. Kind of like Pavlov, huh?). Whenever he's feeling frustrated he have sex. He doesnt masturbate bc it tend to leave him frustrated and angry rather than sated and relaxed. Usually he tends to fuck whoever comes on to him (which happens a lot, so this p much adds up to why he has a hard time making friends. It makes him uncomfortable to be with people who likes him sexually), but it still depends whether or not he’s comfy enough to do the nasty with said stranger. (he prefers men with pretty smiles idk). He not above fucking Alfred if Alfred asks because well, they’re bffs and if there’s anyone Arthur was comfortable with the most, that would be Alfred.
> 
> Uh, there’s a lot of things that I know will confuse you with this last bit, which was done on purpose because those will be explained in the epilogue. That will prolly come out later next week, when I’m (hopefully) more well-rested and not stressed with my fucking papers.

**Author's Note:**

> idea literally came from the two words "flaccid" and "cock" and so I told myself this is going be a drabble at best but then plot somehow happened and here we are
> 
> still work in progress. I'm supposed to finish this tonight then I forgot I only had 2 hrs of sleep today so I need to stop and catch up on sleep. So sorry for leaving you guys hanging


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